You See the Battlefield
by AndyHood
Summary: Some fates are twined together, John Watson was always meant to meet the Holmes brothers. Separated from his unit, John stumbles upon a terrorists cell holding a hostage deep in the mountains. The man who saved him has always been a mystery, no matter what his resources he could never find out who it was. Mycroft never suspected to find him as his brother's new flatmate. No Slash
1. Discovery

Mycroft took shallow breaths, the pain from his fractured ribs not allowing for much else. It had been two weeks since he had been captured, two weeks from when his convey had been attacked on his tour of the bases that he had been forced to go on. Only now he could see that it had all been a trap, a way to get him from England to a place where he was less guarded more open to attack. There must have been a leak, that is the only way someone could have found out that it was Mycroft Holmes visiting the base, and not James Carter.

He lay on his side, on the rock floor of the caves that his captors had holed in; though by the way they talked he would soon be given to the man that had orchestrated this entire attack. Though who that was he didn't know, in all the overheard conversations during and after his beatings not one would mention the person's name as if they were scared to even say it out loud. He gently pressed his face against the cool stone, feeling relief from his swollen eye as the coolness soothed the wound. He imagined not even Sherlock would have recognized his face at this point. His whole body felt like one giant bruise, covered in cuts and bruises from the daily beatings.

His mind wondered to his little brother, he hoped that his younger brother was still clean, that his protocols were being enforced. Sherlock needed to stay clean; his mind was too brilliant to waste it on drugs. No matter what Sherlock thought, Mycroft worried about him constantly and truly just wanted the best for him. So many walls had been built up between the brothers, little grudges that were left to fester, causing resentment to build up. Mycroft missed his happy little brother that used to smile and laugh and loved his older brother. That used to sneak into his room when he had a nightmare, and used to beg to tell him a story. His brother buried that happy little boy with layers of cynical, and arrogance, labeling himself as a sociopath. His brother forced to his these parts because of a world that didn't understand him. He was forced to shoulder all this without anyone to share the burden, Mycroft too busy with his own agendas to see what the world was doing to his dear brother. A small part of Mycroft wondered if his brother would care that he was most likely going to die, if he would be glad to finally be rid of the nuisance that he thought Mycroft was. Laying here Mycroft allowed his mind to dwell on these questions, when in other situations he wouldn't dare dwell on such things. He usually wore his father's saying as a mantle, that caring wasn't an advantage, sentiment made you weak. It was only in these moments that he allowed himself to feel like all the rest of the human population.

He was so lost in these thoughts he didn't hear his captors enter his cell until rough hands grabbed his arms. He was jerked to his feet and a bag shoved over his head, not that it was necessary. He counted three lefts and two rights from his cave to the entrance of the cave system. It was a shock from the cool air in the caves to the blast of dry heat that was the desert. He was unceremoniously shoved on his knees before the bag was ripped from his head, pain quickly cutting through his mind with the bright light.

He could help but hiss as he squinted trying to adjust to the sudden change. It took a few minutes but eventually he was able to take in his surroundings. As he suspected he was in the mountains that looked like the Tora Bora range. He was loosely surrounded with about fifteen men, all armed with high caliber rifles. He focused on the man standing in front of him, obviously the leader. The man smiled at Mycroft, a shark smile before he began to speak, not bothering to use English, knowing that Mycroft could understand him.

"Good afternoon Mr. Holmes I am Raza, and I offer you a chance Mr. Holmes, you are a very powerful man with many connections in the world. Cooperate with us and I will not turn you over to the Spider. Trust me when I say Mr. Holmes that my offer is more than generous."

"You and I have different definitions of generous I am afraid" replied Mycroft stiffly using English.

Raza laughed as if Mycroft said something funny. "I have heard you are a smart man, it would be unwise to refuse me, the Spider is even more merciless then I. We could both benefit from this arrangement, and once our contract is done I will release you."

It was clear to Mycroft that Raza was lying and he knew that Mycroft knew he was lying.

"No you won't, I find that I will have to decline your offer" returned Mycroft, mentally preparing himself for the rage that would follow his answer. He wasn't disappointed as the other's man clouded with anger and with a nod to the man closest to Mycroft a rifle butt was smashed into his face. He was out before he even reached the ground.

Raza glared at the crumpled form of Mycroft before barking to his men, "Get him back inside!"

His men quickly did as they were told, dragging the unconscious form back into the cave system. He ordered the rest of his men to the trucks, it was time to meet the Spider's men and once Mycroft Holmes was tangled in the Spiders clutches he would have wished that he would have taken Raza's offer.

-~O~-

John studied the compound; he cursed himself that he had found a terrorist compound while separated from the rest of his unit. It would be his bloody luck that when the mission went south and the team had scattered that he would be left on his own. He watched as a group of men exited the cave, taking note of the man that was being dragged out with a bag over his head. Ducking back behind the rock, John wondered if he had just stumbled on an execution. He didn't risk being discovered by daring another look, but stayed hidden behind the cluster of rocks, listening to the voices that were carried by the wind. The local dialect was easy to recognize but he froze when another voice floated back to the soldier one that had a familiar English accent. Daring to take a peek, his eyes sought the man that had been forced to kneel. He took in the blood and dirt that covered the man, and the wounds he could see, he looked terrible his face covered in bruises and cuts. His face pale, and not just pale from lack of sun, but from blood lose. John quickly pinpointed to source of bleeding, a spot on the man thigh, much of the man's pant leg was soaked with blood and John could tell it was still sluggishly bleeding. That was not to mention the many cuts that covered the man's torso, that were also weeping blood.

It was this man that the voice came from, and as John watched one of the terrorists snapped forward and smashed the butt of his rifle into the man's face. The man went down hard and as John watched he was dragged back into the caves. The compound becoming a hive of activity as men began to run around and trucks were brought forward. The man whom John guessed was the leader issued orders and over two-thirds of the men who were outside got into the trucks, heading east. Leaving only a handful of soldiers to protect the cave and to watch the prisoner.

John looked at the sun, he had three hours to make his way to the planned rendezvous point, but if he waited that long who knows if the cell would still be here after he convinced the Sarge to come back. From what he observed the men were obviously not planning to stay much longer as crates of weapons and supplies were being piled to the mouth of the cave, John was sure that once whatever business the leader had left on was done the whole compound would move. He didn't have that much time, from the looks of it the gent was losing to much blood and the leader didn't seem to mind if he died or not if he hadn't did anything to stop the bleeding. But the odds were not in John's favor, eight to one were not good odds especially if he attacked them on their home turf. But his sense of morality was refusing to be silent, this man needed his help and it was that in mind he slowly began to creep closer to the caves his browning clench tightly in his hand as went into the breach.

* * *

This my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I hope that you enjoyed, and please let me know what you think.


	2. Rescue

John crawled over rocks carefully, making sure not to let make a mistake of causing a rock slide as he drew closer to the mouth of the cave system. To be successful John would have to be careful, and quick, while also neutralizing all terrorist threats. Which would be difficult, John had no knowledge of how big the cave system was and exactly how many targets were inside, one wrong move and he would be dead or worse captured by the enemy with no hope of rescue since technically he was on a base 150 miles to the north. It took over ten minutes to finally reach ground level, and once there he quickly ran in a crouched position to the wall of rock beside the cave.

Now that he was close to his objective, his breathing started to become deeper as he settled in what he called his battle calm. Nothing else mattered but the task at hand, which was helpful when he was performing emergency surgery with bombs and bullets flying overhead. He began to slink towards the opening, when out from the mouth of the cave a man stepped out, an automatic rifle cradled in his hands as he took a few steps forward. John silently cursed, a plan quickly forming as he slipped his gun into his belt before tensing his body.

John lunged forward and grabbed the man in a choke hold before he knew that John was behind him. The man immediately began to struggle and tried to cry out. John just firmly grabbed the man's head and twisted feeling the bones and tendons snap underneath his hands, and suddenly the man was dead weight in his arms. John adjusted his grip so that it was underneath the man's armpits as he dragged the man to hide the body in the rocks on the foot of the mountain. Once he was sure the body was hidden he made his way to the entrance of the cave, gun back in his hand. The cave was immensely cooler then outside; it was almost a shock to the system.

As he let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the cave, he kept his back to the wall and listened, hearing nothing but his own heartbeat. He let himself further adjust into the situation, the adrenaline flowing through his veins made him calm, the world is crystal clear. When his eyes had become used to the darkness of the cave he slowly began to walk forward placing each foot down with care. Further and further he went, following the string of lights that had been strung to the ceiling which John could reach if he stretched his hand up, and for once he was happy that he was shorter than most men. The tunnel he followed twisted and turned in the mountain, and every few meters was a door. John opened each one, some were empty, and others had crates and boxes. One had nothing but a chair in the middle and John felt a shiver run down his spine as he saw pools of dried blood around it. Trying to get the image of what had probably been done to this man John was attempting to rescue out of his head he didn't hear the soft treads of someone coming until he turned to continue on coming face to face with one of the insurgents. For one long moment both parties looked at each other stunned to see each other. The moment was broken when John hand twitched.

John felt like cursing loudly as the man began to yell while firing at John, infiltrating silently was no longer an option for John so he had no problems returning fire as he tried to duck into the doorway of the room. But he wasn't quick enough, two rounds from the insurgents gun slammed into body armor. The breath was knocked out of him as his back slammed against the wall momentary stunned. John groaned as he slide to the floor, he drew in small breaths as his hand investigated the holes, relieved to find that his armor had stopped the rounds further examination would be needed to see if his ribs were just bruised or if he cracked a few.

But that had to wait for the moment, as more voices began to bounce off the walls of the cave. This was a bit no good, he did not have the upper hand in this situation. It was still roughly six to one odds, and it seemed like all of this was just around the corner of his wall. Taking a steady breath he gripped his gun in his right hand before rounding the corner, exposing his head and shoulder. He managed three shots before he ducked back behind the wall. His knew his aim was true as he heard the sound of three bodies fall to the ground.

Three down, and three left for now. John knew he couldn't pull the same trick as he hauled himself to his feet. He had two options, he could retreat and hope they followed him or he could go for a full frontal assault. Both had their own risks, but it all hinged on how much time. He didn't know when the truck would return, or how injured the man was. Who knows, the man could be bleeding out right now or the truck could return and he would be pinned down on both sides by enemy fire and that situation would lead to his death. He released the clip and put in a full one, a frontal assault it would be.

Taking a deep breath he stepped out from his cover his pistol out in front of him. The terrorists were all foolishly in the open, and with three quick shots as he walked forward they were all down. John kept walking forward until he in the middle of the six men, crouching down he quickly made sure all of them were dead before he stood again. He paused for a few minutes, if there were more they would come running at the sound of gunshots. But there was nothing, no others came so John stood and continued on his way not allowing himself to relax as he went forward.

After three more rooms, he found the one he was looking for. The room was dimly lite just as the rest of them but in the middle of the floor was a form of a body not moving. As John moved further into the room, his nose filled with the smell of blood and body waste. John moved quickly to the man's side, setting his kit next to him as he moved to see if the man was still alive.

-0-p

Mycroft walked the halls of his mind fortress, hiding from what was going on around him. He could hide away from the pain, at least for a little while but he couldn't forget it was there. The walls of his fortress were tinged red, and the walls pulsed slightly out to match the pounding headache from the rifle butt to the face. Mycroft ignored these effects and focused on what was inside different rooms, memories played on the walls like videos. He stopped to watch the memory of baby Sherlock tottering on his feet for the first time, bypassing their parents and heading straight to Mycroft with a smile that lite up his face. In the privacy of his mind he allowed himself to smile at the memory allowing the sentiment to show on his face. There was once a time that Sherlock had loved him dearly, and looked at him with admiration and sought his approval. Then he had left, went to Uni and basically forgot he had a little brother, never calling, never returning the letters, and never coming home during breaks. He didn't even notice when the letters started to dwindle until they stopped arriving all together. When he finally came home, Sherlock wouldn't even look at him, making snide comments when Mycroft tried to talk to him. It was his biggest regret, letting his brother drift away and why he so seldomly let himself review the memories of his childhood, his sort of penance for what he forced his brother to become. He suddenly felt a disturbance with his body, his captors were back which meant that he was going to be delivered to the man who set this whole situation up. He firmly shut to door to his memories and began to walk to the entrance of the fortress, he wouldn't cower in his mind he would meet this man face to face.

-0op-

Mycroft's eyes snapped open to see a soldier bending over him, fingers pressed against his throat checking for a pulse. Mycroft couldn't help but flinch away, his brain failed to process that this was not one of his captors as its pounding caused his thoughts to jumble, all Mycroft wanted to do was run away. Warm hands were suddenly on either side of his face and he was looking into the bluest eyes that he had ever seen, eyes that were filled with concern.

"Hey, hey it's alright, calm down" the man soothed, the familiar accent made Mycroft relax as the man pulled out a knife and cut the bonds that held his hands and feet together. Gentle hands rolled him until he was flat on his back, before they dug into the pack the soldier had beside him and dug out a medical kit. "I'm just going to check you for internal injuries" stated the man calmly as he slowly lifted what was left of Mycroft's shirt. He winced in sympathy as he uncovered Mycroft's wounds. "They really worked you over mate." The hands were firm but gentle as they examined his torso, his warm hands made Mycroft shiver, he was so cold. "You got three broken ribs, two on the right and one on the left, while at least two others are fractured. I'm going to give you a few shots to help the infection that's starting to set in and clean out some of the nastier looking wounds."

Mycroft nodded, watching as a syringe was filled and injected into the crook of his elbow. Before the soothing hands set to work cleaning and stitching the worse looking wounds with efficacy. Mycroft realized that the doctor must have also given him a shot of morphine as his felt like he was floating, and it was only the calm voice of the doctor that kept him grounded.

"Hang in there, I'm going to get you out of here" assured the blonde soldier, looking reassuringly down at Mycroft. It was funny but looking into the soldiers blue eyes Mycroft couldn't help but believe him. A foreign feeling of trust welled up within him as the drugs won and he was pulled back into the darkness.

John was grateful that the man passed out from the drugs as he quickly stitched the worse of the wounds and bandaged the others. The worse wound John found was a bullet wound that was several days old in the man's right leg, upper thigh; whoever dressed it had done a shoddy job and showed signs of infection. But John was confident if he got to the man to a proper hospital in time, he would be able to keep the leg and be able to recover with minimal damage. Most of the damage done was superficial, they didn't want him dead but they wanted to make sure he felt pain.

From what was left of the blokes clothing, John could tell he was a civilian, though how and why he had been caught by the Taliban the surgeon didn't know. He would have to move quickly, he didn't know how much longer the majority of the terrorists would be gone, but he wanted to be well on his way before they came back. He finished quickly and gathered his supplies back into his bag, before John carefully picked up the man, and being as careful as he could of the man's injuries John maneuvered him into a fireman's carry ignoring his screaming ribs.

It wasn't the best position for the man, but it freed his right hand to grip his Browning, while the other wrapped around the man's long legs as he slowly and cautiously walked back to the entrance of the cave system keeping close to the wall. Once back at the entrance, John scanned his surrounding before exiting, by the suns position overhead he had lost an hour in caves. He had a lot of ground to cover if he wanted to get there in time. Murmuring a soft apology to the man on his shoulder he began to climb back to the trail he had been on, once on it again John began to jog putting distance between him and compound, where twenty minutes later three trucks pulled to a stop.


	3. Deductions

The sun was over high as John began to make his way to the rendezvous point. He alternated between a jog and a quick march, trying to conserve his strength while also covering as much ground as he could. Only stopping to switched the shoulder on which he carried the man on, he paused only long enough to check the man's pulse before continuing, the man was so still that John frequently checked the pulse to make sure that he wasn't dead. The pace he set ate up the miles as he traveled steadily, until a full hour had passed and he felt that he had put enough distance between them and the caves. Fear of being followed had pushed him forward, but he could feel the wetness of blood soaking through his uniform so he found a spot of shade and began to change the bandages. This time taking his time as he properly began to dress the wounds, paying attention to every single wound. He was so focused on his work that he didn't notice Mycroft's eyes flutter open.

At first Mycroft was confused, thinking the whole rescue had been a dream, but he could feel the hot Afghani sun, feel sand beneath his hands, and the sound of another human breathing as he felt a presence lean over him. Opening his eyes he watched the brown fatigue figure change his bandages checking every single one of his wounds, unaware his patient had woken up.

It gave Mycroft a chance to study this man, from the condition of his skin and the fact he didn't look like he was suffering from the heat as bad as Mycroft was, he could summarize that the good Doctor had been here for quite a long time, and it wasn't his first tour. Through the way his eyes scanned the land around them every few minutes and the callouses on his fingers he was also a soldier and used a gun quite regularly. A soldier doctor, a warrior and a healer, a walking contradiction if there ever was one, each side balancing the other, his right hand took life, while his left hand saved it. This was a man with a strong morale and loyalty and not easily shaken. Had a rough childhood, but he rose above it to become a Doctor, who joined the Army to help pay for that training but grew to love it. A man that anyone would be glad to have on their side, a strong asset to anyone's team.

Though as Mycroft eyes glanced around he realized that they were all alone, if this had been a rescue mission then there would have been more than one man and they would have been extracted by now. So this lead to the question of who was this man, and why did he save him?

"Good you're awake" murmured the Doctor, bringing him out of his musings. Mycroft let his eyes meet the Doctor's blue ones once again. Surprised when the man held his gaze instead of turning away, Mycroft stare had made Kings, Heads of States, and Dictators turn away, but this man held his gaze without a problem and the desire to learn who this man, to learn all his secrets grew stronger in Mycroft.

John had been surprised to look up mid-way through his examination to see the man calmly studying him, though he had no signs of waking up. At the sound of his voice, the man's eyes meet his and John was stunned at the power of the man's stare. His eyes seemed to look through John; he had never seen such eyes, though they were clouded with pain. They were sharp and calculating and the color of clouds during a snow storm, and just as cold.

Taking out a pin light he bent and shined it into the man's eyes, nodding as the pupils reacted normally. The gun butt to the face had not caused a concussion, but had broken the man's nose. "This is going to hurt" he said as set the nose and applied plaster's. Once that was done he stripped off his gloves and turned to grab his canteen.

"Here drink, we got quite a few miles before we get to the rendezvous place and hopefully Sarge can get someone to get you to a hospital and back were you belong, Sir" rambled the soldier, bringing a canteen up to Mycroft letting the water pour down his parched throat. He wanted to grab the canteen and drain it, but the soft voice of the Doctor stopped him. "Slowly, slowly, not too much don't want you to get sick" the man paused before huffing a laugh, "Well any sicker. How's your pain level?"

"Manageable" croaked out Mycroft, and ended up having to cough making his head pound and eyes go momentarily black as his torso screamed in pain. The soldier beside him immediately moved as to support him, and Mycroft was glad that he didn't try to reassure him with assurances but stayed silent until Mycroft sagged against him exhausted. John eased him back, grunting as his own ribs protesting.

The grunt didn't go unnoticed by Mycroft and he immediately focused on the Doctor, seeing for the first time the man's entire torso and the three perfect circles that were in the man's fatigues. As Mycroft watched, the Doctor quickly removed his body armor and inspected it before removing three bullets from it that he stuck in his pocket. After that he pulled up his uniform and Mycroft eyes widened at the bruises that marred the muscular torso of the soldier, the biggest was almost directly over the man's heart, two others bruises decorated his ribs, and it was with study hands that the Doctor inspected his own injuries, not at all bothered with the fact that he if he wasn't wearing body armor he would have died rescuing Mycroft.

John's examination confirmed his earlier assessment, he had two cracked ribs but other than that it was just deep bruising, and he knew that by tomorrow he would barely be able to bend. Deciding that he didn't need a wrap he quickly put on back on his armor and turned back to the man who was looking at him with a slightly shocked expression on his face. "It looks worse than it actually is" assured John strapping his gun to his back. Mycroft didn't answer, he had saw the signs of pain that the Doctor was trying to hide and he frowned back at the man.

John knew he hadn't convinced the man by the way he frowned at him, but John was a soldier and he would put up with the discomfort of his wounds despite everything. So without another word John leaned down and picked the man back up, but this time bridal style and continued on.

Mycroft tried to be stoic, to not let his pain show. But the bouncing jog was too much and he couldn't stop the whimper that escaped his lips. He wished that he could sink back into the blackness but he had to stay aware. But that was a losing battle as he found himself floating, but it was his will that kept him from going there. Instead he focused on the soldier that plodded on neither slowing nor stopping as he went mile after mile, he showed no signs of exhaustion even though he was carrying another person that easily taller and outweighed him.

So it was a shock when they came to an abrupt stop, Mycroft opened his eyes that he hadn't realized he closed to see John absolutely still as his eyes scanned his surroundings, before he pursed his lips and whistled a four note tune an A, #C, B, D.* Moments later there was a returning four notes, and Mycroft's slow brain realized that it was a signal. They were at the meeting place where the rest of the Doctor's unit was. As Mycroft watched, men began to appear from the surroundings all dressed like the Doctor. In brown camou fatigues, that held no type of identification to who they were, but from a glance Mycroft could tell that three were American, while four were British, and one Australian.

John was relieved to see all the members of the unit were all there and looking at them from his Doctor eye's he could tell none were injured.

"Doc good thing you showed up, we had you written off as a goner" called Zach, no noticing the burden that John carried. The Sarge was the first to notice as John came closer that John had a man in his arms.

"What the hell you got there Doc," demanded Sarge drawling the units attention to the man in John's arms. Suddenly John was surrounded by his team, all of them asking questions as they stared at the man in the bloody cloths. John didn't, instead making his way to the shade were Johnson moved quickly to lay out a blanket. John nodded thankfully and he gently put down his burden and checking the bandages again while the rest of the men crowded around him. Once he was satisfied he turned to look at his Commanding Officer.

"I found him in the cave on my way here, so I brought him with me" answered John smoothly not going into detail as he accepted the canteen that was offered to him.

Sarge frowned but didn't push, instead he knelt down beside John and began to pat down the man's pockets searching for identification, he knew that John hadn't did these, he would have been more worried about the man's wounds. He was lucky and found a wallet in the back pocket that was more or less intact and was surprised to find a government ID and even more surprised when he read the name.

He whistled tipping his helmet back, "John you don't realize what you stumbled on. This James Carter is some government official who went missing about two weeks ago. He was on a convoy to one of the bases for a review when it was attacked; the whole convoy was killed except for him. They have massive man hunt going on trying to find this bloke and you just happen to stumble upon him Doc, you must the luckiest man in all of Afghanistan." The Sergeant eyed John as he said this, who ducked his head further over his patient.

"There might have been a terrorist or two and a cave, but I honestly just stumbled upon them. I didn't even think to ask who he was, had no clue he was the government official they were looking for" said John honestly.

If Mycroft hadn't been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness he would have gaped at the Doctor. What kind of man went into a cave full of terrorists just to save a man that he had no knowledge about? Who was this man?! Everything he observed about his man told him that he was ordinary, a goldfish but he wasn't there was something about him that didn't fit into a neat box much like the rest of society. It frustrated Mycroft as well as intrigued him. He jerked at the sharp pain in his elbow and it was too late as he realized the Doctor had pumped drugs into his system. His eyes once again found the blue ones and he opened his mouth trying to demand who he was but the drugs worked quickly and Mycroft went spiraling into the black without any answers.

-p-p-p

Rue's tune from the Hunger Games.

Hoped that you liked it!


	4. Recovered

John kneeled down next to Mr. Carter, checking his vitals one last time. Sergeant Wilson had called for a helicopter to come pick up Mr. Carter no questions asked. Sarge had barely gotten his name out when someone was demanding the coordinates. Apparently Sarge had been right when he said Mr. Carter was an important person.

"How's he doing?" asked Sergeant Wilson squatting next to John.

"As okay as could be expected for his injuries. His colors good, and there's no serious sign of infection for most of his wounds. I'm most worried about the bullet wound in his leg, whoever they had patch him up didn't do it properly and it is infected. He needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible, there not much I can do with the supplies that we have."

Wilson nodded, studying the man before turning to John. "John, I know that you risked your life for this man, it didn't escape my notice of those three new bullet holes in your body armor. But as you know there is no record of this mission, as far as the British Government is concerned we were never here and you are still back on the base with the rest of the Fifth. You will never be recognized for this and I am sorry for that, the Army needs more men like you."

John nodded expecting this, "I know Sarge, I didn't rescue him for the recognition, like I said I didn't even know who he was until you found his ID. I saw him with those terrorists; saw his condition and I knew that I couldn't just leave him there. I was lucky most of the terrorists left in two trucks and only left a handful of men which I took care of."

Sarge let out a laugh at that, "Got to hand it to you Doc, you are the most honorable man I have ever met, you make the rest of us look bad."

John huffed, "You would have done the same thing if you were there."

Sarge just shook his head, "That is where you are wrong John, most would have went and got back-up and waited before going in. Not you John, I'm sure the thought crossed your mind but you didn't do either of that you went in and you were the one who got him out."

John didn't say anything but Wilson could see the tips of his ear turn slightly red. But modest John didn't say anything else, but busied himself with the bandages covering the man's chest and Sarge chuckled again. But he knew that John wouldn't comment on his last statement, because John truly believed that he did nothing special with what he did. The RAMC lost a good man when John became a combat soldier.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an approaching helicopter. Motioning at the rest of the squad they melted back into the landscape including John, until it was just Sarge standing all alone by the body of the unconscious man. The sound got louder and louder, until from behind a sand dune the helicopter came into view. Lifting his binoculars he trained them on the bird, relaxing at the sight of the British flag painted on the tail of the copter. Walking out in the open he began to wave his hand signaling the copter until it landed in front of him.

Wilson was surprised that besides a company of four men, a woman also jumped out of the bird. He could tell immediately that she wasn't Army with her long hair and manicured nails but there was an air around her that told the Sergeant that she wasn't a woman to be messed with.

The company came straight for him, when they got close he turned heel and motioned them to follow him. Giving his report as he walked, "Your man's in stable condition, but he's been worked over pretty good. Multiple injuries and one gunshot wound to his thigh that's showing signs of infection. Right now he's under some medication for the pain."

At this time he had lead them to Carter, and he watched as one man that he assumed was a Doctor and the woman knelt next to him. The woman was muttering under her breath as she gentle cupped his checks. When Wilson was sure that no one was looking at him he slowly drew back. The less questions he was asked the better for him and his squad. He made the cover of the rocks, were the rest of his men were waiting and with a silent command they started to retreat they had a long march to the pick-up point.

Athena finally took her attention from Mycroft assuring herself that it was actually him and that he was alive. For the past few weeks she had been at the base that Mycroft had last inspected working with their team to try to find out were Mycroft had been taken and if he was even still alive. Whoever had orchestrated this had been smart and left behind very little clues and no ransom demand had been sent. Hope had slowly grown dimmer by the second week with no word; Athena had worried that they wouldn't find him. But out of the blue the call had come in, that he had been found. She had jumped the helicopter with a few members of Mycroft's detail and a doctor. She almost didn't believe that it was him, that it was an elaborate mistake that is until she was kneeling next to the body and despite the bruises she knew that it was Mycroft.

The doctor she had brought with her proceeded to go over his injuries murmuring to himself and Athena cringed at some of the injuries and pursed her lips at the sight of the gunshot wound just were the man had said it was. Turning she opened her mouth to ask the soldier were he had found Mycroft at only to discover that the man in question was gone. Her eyes snapped around checking for snipers, instantly thinking that it was a trap.

"Get him back to the copter now!" she barked getting out of the way so Mycroft could be picked up. The team snapped to action quickly grabbing Mycroft and retreating back to the helicopter. Athena eyes scanned the surroundings as she retreated not feeling safe until the helicopter was in the air. Athena wrapped her hands around her bosses, staring into his beaten face as the doctor fussed around him inserting an IV and began to take his vitals. Glancing out the window as they began to fly her eyes picked out a lone figure on a bluff who raised a hand in farewell, Athena watched as the figure turned and disappeared beneath the rise.

John breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the helicopter fly away, raising a hand in good-bye, glad that the man would get the care that he needed, and God willing would not be to affected by his time in the caves. Turning he began to follow the rest of his squad looking forward to returning back to his mates and the cool shower that was calling to him.


	5. Brothers

Voices assaulted Mycroft as he was wheeled down the corridor, doctors screaming orders to the nurses. but none were his Doctor, the man that saved him in the desert. His eyes scanned his surroundings finding his assistant Athena who couldn't hide the worry from her face and for once her fingers were still over the keyboard of her blackberry.

Mycroft was immensely glad that he had left her back in England that she was not in his convoy when it was attacked. He shuddered to think what would have happened if she was with him. He wanted to open his mouth to tell her to find the Doctor, he needed to understand the man. He also wanted to demand to know how Sherlock was doing, had his brother fallen off the wagon again. But his tongue felt heavy and he couldn't remember how his mouth worked.

Mycroft tried to grab the Doctor that approached him with a needle, wanted to say that he didn't need drugs, he needed his mind clear, that he was the British Government and he needed answers. But his hand barely twitched as he watched the Doctor put the sedative into the IV line and the world went out of focus and even though he tried to fight the urge to close his eyes it couldn't be helped. He lost the battle as his eyes closed, and he hoped that when he woke things would be clearer.

* * *

Mycroft forced his heavy eyes to open, quickly taking in account of where he was. He didn't know what woke him, but he was surprised to see Sherlock, pale thin Sherlock looking at him with blood shot eyes. He wondered who had told his brother that he was being hospitalized.

Upon seeing him awake his younger brother heaved a sigh, "Really Mycroft I knew you were lazy but sleeping for three days is too much even for you." This was said with his usually snark, but there was something else, something Mycroft hadn't heard in his brother's voice since Redbeard was taken away, it was worry.

"Where are we?" he asked, hoping that they were back in London. He tried to deduce where they were but the steady supply of pain medication being pumped through his brain made it had to focus on all the little details and he had just given up. He missed the look of worry cross Sherlock's face at the question before it was smoothed back to his mask of indifference.

"Can't you deduce it brother, we're at King Edward VII's Hospital Sister Agnes, you have been sedated for the past two days since your transfer from that hospital in Afghanistan. You are being treated for blood loss, multiple lacerations, deep bruising, and burns. Not to mention a gunshot wound, fractured ribs, three fingernails ripped out, and a broken nose. Your Doctors are surprised that your wounds show no major signs of infection, so obviously there must have been a competent Doctor back in the desert."

"A soldier, a very stupid soldier" sighed Mycroft his eyes closing as he again saw the nameless blonde calmly taking out the three shots that had been in his body armor. Before opening back up to look at his brother who was fidgeting in his seat. He raised an eyebrow at his brother, an invitation to get what he was thinking off of his chest.

"This isn't supposed to happen Mycroft, you are not supposed the be kidnapped and held for two weeks, you're the British Government you have plenty of minions that are supposed to do that for you" said Sherlock in a rush, before he flinched. Mycroft supposed his brother was expecting him to say that sentiment was a weakness and that Sherlock would never learn. But there was a warm fuzzy feeling in the Iceman's chest that came with the knowledge that Sherlock was worried about him. That despite the mistakes Mycroft had made there was still a small part of Sherlock that still cared about his older brother.

The truth was Sherlock had been terrified, he hadn't been told right away that Mycroft was kidnapped. But he knew on some level when he wasn't pulled out of the house he had gotten high in three days in a row. By the fourth day, Sherlock knew that something was wrong, Mycroft had never been able to stay away for so long of a time after he entered a drug den. By this time one of his minions usually had pulled him out and taken him back to his flat were Mycroft would be waiting threatening with another stint in rehab. The change in pattern had Sherlock returning to his apartment and calling his brother with his mobile, using the personal phone number Mycroft had given to him in emergency.

His suspicion of something wrong had been confirmed when his brother's assistant commonly called Athena had answered and explained the situation. Sherlock had broken quite a few things in his flat that day, learning that there was no trace of his brother, the convoy destroyed, everybody found dead except for Mycroft. There was also no trace of a removal, no tracks, no sign of what direction they had disappeared to. Sherlock cursed himself for not realizing what was happening to his brother, he had been strung out while Mycroft had been taken. He dared not go down the path of regret that whispered that if he hadn't been high, if he wasn't such a screw up he could have flown to Afghanistan and helped with the search.

Sherlock had tried to shove the emotions away, to be above them like Mycroft had always told him. But the emotions bled through and Sherlock had stewed in guilt refusing to give into the urge to shoot up. It would be a penance for failing his brother, he would not shoot up ever again. He wondered if the angry words he had spoken to his brother would be his last, and if he had allowed petty grudges to blind him. He knew to some degree that Mycroft hadn't meant to do a lot of the things he did when Sherlock was a child, that he was busy at Uni. But he had completely ignored him when Sherlock needed him the most, in the letters he had begged Mycroft to come home. Sherlock had needed a shoulder to lean on as the world showed it's true colors and Sherlock was all alone with no one that truly understood him. His parents tried, Sherlock tried to fit in, but in the end Sherlock had been to different and the children in school had made sure that he knew it.

Sherlock had been certain that he would never see his brother again when Athena had called saying Mycroft had been found and once he had was stable he would be shipped back to London to recovery from his extensive injuries. Athena had emailed him the complete list of injuries and Sherlock had read in horror of what had happened to his brother. As soon as Mycroft was back in the country Sherlock had went to his side and didn't leave. It was wrong to see Mycroft so vulnerable in the hospital bed, he seemed so much larger than he was when he played Minor Government Official, but he seemed so small amidst the machines and tubes. His brother had slept for three days before opening his eyes, free of pain but glazed slightly from the pain medication.

He made some comment about Mycroft's laziness trying to hide his relief. Mycroft had seemed confused, and that worried Sherlock that for once his brother didn't know what was going on around him. So Sherlock filled him in as to where he was and the state of his injuries. Which was surprising to Sherlock, that the wounds look as well as they did and then Mycroft had revealed it was because a soldier, a stupid one, but that could describe every single soldier in the world. Sherlock saw no sensible reason to go to war, and couldn't understand why someone would willingly do it. Than for some reason he had blurted out what he was feeling, and he waited for the scathing remarks Mycroft would say about sentiment. So when Mycroft moved his hand to grasp Sherlock's everything stuttered to a halt and Sherlock wondered if someone had injected him with cocaine because Mycroft didn't show affection, he was above it. But as the hand holding his gentle squeezed, Sherlock let a little smile show on his face as Mycroft looked at him with soft eyes and he knew that Mycroft had been as scared as Sherlock had been and he was relieved to finally be home.

Mycroft felt a thrill of triumph as Sherlock allowed him to hold his hand and even smiled at Mycroft. Mycroft let a tiny ball of hope fill his chest that maybe someday that his relationship with Sherlock might be able to recover.

* * *

John crashed onto his bunk, glad to be back on base. He was always glad to come home after these undercover missions were done with.

"How was the leave?" asked Murray as he sat down on the bunk next to John. To his unit John had been on leave for the past few days he had been gone, to the military he had never leaved the base. No record of his mission was written down, only the person that assigned the mission and the people who were in it knew of its existence. Needless to say that John was a convincing liar.

John just smiled at Murray, "Killer" he said humorlessly thinking of the ruined body armor.

Murray chuckled, "Okay don't tell me TCW, you didn't miss much here. Small fire fight here and there, no causalities and new recruits getting yelled at by Major Sholto, so the usual. Maybe his mood will improve now that your back."

John scoffed as he rolled onto his back, "The Major has other things to worry about than me, just because I am back doesn't mean his mood will improve."

Murray just rolled his eyes and poked John in the shoulder, "Keep telling yourself that John, everyone knows that Sholto likes you, hell he respects you. He probably wants you to get promoted to Captain more than you do so that you'll be his Second in Command."

"Whatever Bill" said John, Sholto was a tough man to read but a damn good CO. John would emit that it would seem that Sholto liked him, but he refused to believe that him being gone affected the Major's mood. Before Bill could reply the man in question walked through the barrack doors.

Both John and Bill got off of their bunks and saluted their CO as he came to stand in front of them, the Major returned the salute and with a slight nod silently ordered them to be at ease.

"I see that you have returned to us in one piece Lieutenant Watson" he said briskly, Sholto was the only one that knew that John hadn't been on leave like he claimed but on a mission, though that is all that he knew about the whole thing.

"It's good to be back Sir," answered John truthfully.

And it was to be true, being with the familiar people that he trusted with his life and he could put the last few days behind him. He was back to where he belonged, and between patrols, being promoted, and other battles John soon forgot about the man in the caves.

Mycroft upon recovering tried his hardest to find the identity of the soldier that had saved him that day. But was met with dead ends no matter what direction his investigations went. There was no record of any ally soldiers in the area Mycroft had been found. It frustrated with Mycroft and Athena that there research lead to nothing and as time passed Mycroft allowed the mystery to be pushed to the back of his mind and only thought of the soldier on the nights he had nightmares. Though he never forgot, even after three years had passed and he was forced to leave the country for a meeting. He didn't know that when he came back his world would be thrown for a curve when the soldier walked back into his life.

* * *

Hoped you liked, please review!


	6. Reunion

The black towncar pulled smoothly away from the private airfield heading back to London with its two occupants.

"Your brother has moved into Baker Street as planned" updated Athena from her space in the car.

"Bit out of his price range" mused Mycroft looking out the window, he was relieved to be back in London, being back in his city was a balm to his soul. Ever since his abduction he absolutely hated to do legwork, he knew that it was irrational but fear gripped him in a tight vice whenever he left Britain. Needless to say that due to this he only left the country when he absolutely had to.

However when he left he no longer had to worry about his younger brother getting strung out on drugs, after Mycroft's kidnapping he had not so much as touched another dose of cocaine. Though there relationship was still lacking, it was better than it had been in years. Mycroft still worried though, being a Consulting Detective as his brother called himself was still quite dangerous. Sherlock often rushed into danger without back-up, not even waiting for the police while he wrestled with dangerous criminals. Mycroft had tried to assign his brother a few shadows, but Sherlock often managed to give them the slip.

Athena nodded still looking down at her blackberry, "It appears he's found himself a potential flat mate to help with the rent while also getting a discount from the landlady, a Mrs. Martha Hudson. Sherlock helped send her husband to death row when he took that case in Florida. Your brother detail reports that Sherlock is on his way to a crime scene, and apparently he is bringing along his potential flat mate" she said frowning.

Mycroft frowned, his brother never brought his flatmates, no matter how short of time they lasted, to crimes scenes. "You've a meeting place set up?" asked Mycroft, his hand already out to receive the file Athena had for him. He raised his eyebrow at the thinness of the file, Athena scowled down at her phone clearly annoyed.

"The security team was lax; by the time we learned of the potential flat mate we only had time for a basic background. A more extensive background is being complied as we speak and will be ready as soon as the interview is over Sir, the security team has also been replaced."

Mycroft nodded and opened the file, reading it aloud though he knew that Athena had already read it. "John Hamish Watson, age 36. Joined the Army at 18 with a Medical Cadetship to pay for Uni, trained to be a surgeon and interned at Barts and graduated in the top ten of his class in Sandhurst. A career soldier it would seem, generally well liked, although his superiors made a note that he was reckless always risking his neck to drag a fellow soldier back despite the danger. He rose through the ranks, becoming a Captain in the RAMC and well on his way to becoming a Major. He was beginning his fourth tour in Afghanistan when he was wounded in action, shot through the left shoulder. He spent a week living with his alcoholic sister when he returned home before moving into a bedsit. His therapist believes he has PTSD and has trust issues, and he suffers from a psychosomatic limp along with an intermediate tremor in his left hand. Currently unemployed and has a very meager balance in his bank account, seems to be trying to live off his army pension."

Behind the initial report was what appeared to be Watson's therapy notes. Mycroft quickly glanced over them, silently scoffing at what he read there. This woman was clearly an idiot; she should go back to working with civilians. Even Mycroft knew that most soldiers would never open up to a complete stranger immediately, much less talk about their feelings. If a soldier did talk it was most likely to his fellow soldiers, people that they trusted with their very lives. So of course Watson wouldn't open up to this woman, he wasn't a civilian who had petty problems he was a soldier who had probably seen more than his fair share of gruesome scenes. He wished that there was a picture so that he could deduce more but the file was lacking.

He wondered if Watson was safe, an invalid soldier with PTSD, not the most stable person to have around his brother. This man could be more dangerous than any criminal that Sherlock has ever chased. What if Sherlock triggered the man with his habits, and the man just snapped. He huffed a breath he needed the man's full file to figure out how much danger Watson was.

"Where is my brother and this man now?" asked Mycroft. Athena pushed a few buttons on her blackberry before answering her boss.

"Brixton, at the Lauriston Gardens, it would seem that your brother has just left the scene leaving the Doctor behind. We have enough time to drop you off at the meeting place and go pick him up when he exits the house" she answered.

"Do we have any CCTV cameras in the area, I want a look of this man" as the car pulled up at the warehouse that had been chosen this evening for the introduction.

"Inside Sir, we have a laptop connected with the cameras in the area."

Mycroft nodded and Athena took her leave, getting back in the car to intercept Dr. Watson. It was best to play it safely, a good looking woman in the car would relax the Doctor more than some of the bigger men on Mycroft's security team. Plus it would give Athena a chance to assess the Doctor's threat level.

Mycroft walked into the warehouse to wear the command station was set up. Setting down behind the laptop his eyes scanned to viewpoints watching the cameras that showed the police barricade and watched as a limping figure exited the house and made its way to Sally, and seemed to pause for a few seconds to exchange a few words before the figure started to limp towards the road with probably the intention to flag down a cab.

Mycroft hummed, cursing the fact that the Doctor's face was in a constant shadow, even when he pointed the camera at him when he finally answered the pay phone Mycroft still couldn't get a clear shot of his face. The shadows hid the features from Mycroft the only thing he could make out from it was that hard firm line the soldiers mouth was set in as he hung up and headed towards the car that pulled alongside the curve.

-v-v-v-v-v

Mycroft was suddenly glad he was leaning most of his weight on his brolly taking pressure off his bad leg. Otherwise he was afraid that he might have fallen over in shock as the man that had saved him almost three years ago got out of the car.

"Have a seat" said Mycroft instead to cover his shock as Dr. Watson limped towards him.

"You know, I've got a phone" stated the soldier as he limped closer. "I mean, very clever and all that, but er.. you could just phone me. On my phone" the soldier finished sarcastically as he came to a stop right before Mycroft allowing the man to get a proper look at the soldier.

In the brief moment of silence Mycroft studied this man, Captain John Hamish Watson, a name finally to the face. He felt an unexplainable wave of grief as he looked over the Doctor, the tired weary look of a man that had lost the purpose to his life. His cloths hung off his frame that told the story of weight loss, and his eyes had dark circles underneath them from sleepless nights. These details telling Mycroft a story of depression, unfortunately Mycroft had seen this look on many soldiers right before they took their own lives, unable to cope with coming back home.

But unlike those other soldiers in the past Captain Watson's eyes were alert, as they quickly assessed him and the surroundings, yet lacked the spark he had seen in the desert. He looked like a completely different man, a husk of the man he once was, but maybe in time the husk will grow back into the man he once was. Mentally shaking himself he forced himself to get back on the script he prepared.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet hence this place. Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down" offered Mycroft.

Dr. Watson glared at Mycroft, and Mycroft knew he made a mistake in mentioning the leg. It was psychosomatic and Dr. Watson knew that but didn't like it being pointed out. "I don't want to sit down."

So the stubborn soldier was still there.

"You don't seem very afraid" remarked Mycroft, though he reflected that this man was not scared of entering a den of terrorists, one man with an umbrella probably wouldn't intimidate him.

"You don't seem very frightening" returned John, looking Mycroft up and down as if assessing him of his threat level.

Mycroft chuckled; he could see if he made any move towards the Doctor, John would have no qualm taking him down. Even know he wasn't leaning on his cane but had his firm weight on both his feet and his hand had stopped trembling, the dear Doctor hadn't even realized it yet. Any other person would be afraid in his position yet not Watson. "Yes, the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

That threw Watson for a loop, confusion evident by the wrinkles on his forehead. "I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him…yesterday."

If John could only realize how attached Sherlock was already to the man, arriving on time to meet him, and inviting him to a crime scene where he not only allowed him in the building but access to the body. If it was up to Sherlock, he would be the only one who had access to a body and not let anyone especially NSY around it. "Mmm, and since yesterday, you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together." He attempted a smirk at the Doctor, deciding to leave off the jab about the relationship.

John gaped at the man, who was he and how did he know all this? "Who are you?" John demanded of the suited figure.

"An interested party" was the only reply.

This wasn't enough for the soldier, from what he had seen of Sherlock's life he made it his goal to annoy people and solve the puzzles of crimes. The man was bound to pick up an enemy here or there. He glared at the man, protective side fully perked, if this man wanted any information about Sherlock he wasn't going to get it, but first he needed more information. "Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having" it was sad but true. In his brother's whole life he had never had a friend besides the family dog. Again the pain of knowing what he had put his brother through when he left for Uni was great, but he calmly pushed it back into its room in his mind fortress.

"And what's that?" queried the soldier sounding cautious and curious.

"An enemy" decided Mycroft. Mycroft had shown John just a slice of what he was capably of.

"An enemy?"

Mycroft could hear the disbelief in the man's voice "In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well, thank God you're above all that" deadpanned John looking around at the abandoned warehouse, if the man thought Sherlock was dramatic, than what did he see this as? Mycroft froze, had the Doctor just made a

The silence was broken at the sound of Dr. Watson's mobile beeping. Again Mycroft was astounded at he was promptly ignored as the Doctor checked his messages, a blank look on his face and Mycroft could guess that it was his brother on the other side of the mobile probably just realizing that he had left the dear Doctor at the crime scene.

"I hope I'm not distracting you" intoned Mycroft trying to get John to focus back on him.

"Not distracting me at all" replied John putting the mobile back into his pocket before he focused once again on the man. His instincts were telling him that this man was dangerous, though he didn't want to harm John. He could tell by the tone that he didn't even want to harm Sherlock, there was a no malice as he said he was the man's enemy. No speeches of how Sherlock had wronged him or the younger man needed to pay. So far John hadn't been demanded any information and not harm had come to him.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" asked Mycroft, not allowing himself to hope that this man would stick around.

"I could be wrong but I think that's none of your business."

Mycroft was sure that his brother would agree with the good Doctor, but even if this man had saved his life three years ago it didn't mean that he had changed. He was grateful but that didn't make it automatically okay for this soldier to be trusted with his brother. "It could be"

"It really couldn't" John insisted.

It was time to find out; from out of his pocket he drew out a small notebook and looked at it even though he didn't really need to. "If you do move into, um…221 Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?" asked John, trying to keep the confusion off his face. How did this man know so much, he had just looked at the flat just a few hours ago. Whoever this man was he was powerful and resourceful, though John wasn't going to let that intimated him.

Mycroft briefly wondered if the next thing he planned on saying would be okay before dismissing it. "Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

Trust the soldier to want everything out in the open before he gave him an answer. "Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel…uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" asked John, he wanted the man in the suit to tell him exactly why he wanted this information, not the little half-truths that he kept on saying. He wanted it spelled out exactly what he wanted from Jon, though he wasn't going to help spy on Sherlock for anyone at any price.

Mycroft decided to be honest for his reasoning. "I worry about him. Constantly."

John could tell that this man was being completely honest with that answer. "That's nice of you" commented John, trying to understand why he would be worried if he was an enemy, something wasn't right with this picture.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call… a difficult relationship" admitted Mycroft, though it had gotten better these past few years, Sherlock and he were still very far from what one would call close. Another beep drew John's interest away, and once it was done Dr. Watson squared his shoulders as if he had come to a decision.

Mycroft held his breath, he needed to know if the man was still in there the man that saved a stranger and took three bullets to get the job done. Had his wound changed him so much, would he accept the offer of a bribe?

"No" came the answer with such conviction, Mycroft could tell that John was actually offended to be offered a bribe. Such a rare man indeed, other flatmates had either accepted right away or told Mycroft that they were moving out right away that this was too much.

"I haven't even mentioned a figure" said Mycroft mildly while inside he was quite happy.

"Don't bother" came the short reply, it was fascinating to watch that each minute in Mycroft's presence John Watson's posture changed from tired and worn war veteran to Captain John H. Watson M.D. that ran out under heavy gunfire to drag a fellow soldier to safety and wouldn't be intimated by a man in a suit. It would seem that Sherlock had now fallen under Captain Watson's protection as Mycroft caught the same look of protectiveness in those blue eyes that been there when they gazed down at him.

"You're very loyal very quickly" observed Mycroft, his observation more for himself than for Dr. Watson to here.

"No, I'm not, I'm just not interested."

Mycroft had planned on quoting John's therapists notes to him, but somehow he knew that this would push the ex-soldier away from him. Despite being wrong for most of John's problems, Mycroft could see that she was right on one thing. John Watson had trust issues, reading his therapists notes to him aloud would turn him against Mycroft and he would never fully trust him if he chose to stick around Sherlock. Mycroft found that he wanted John to trust him, wanted to get to know the man that was still a puzzle to him. The desire to know what it was about John that made him, him.

Instead he just peered at the Doctor, "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him. But you're not like others Dr. Watson, I can tell from your hand."

"What about my hand?" demanded John, curling it into a fist on instinct eyeing the man in the suit.

"Show me" came the soft reply as the man eyed his left hand. John lifted it towards the stranger and tensed when he walked forward reaching for it.

"Don't" came sharp command, and were Mycroft any lesser of a man, he would have withdrew and put distance between them. But Mycroft wasn't a lesser man, and looking calmly at Dr. Watson, he reached forward his hand. Mycroft could see the reluctance in his face as he lowered it and allowed Mycroft to grasp it with both his hands. It was steady in his grasp and his pulse was just barely elevated, but just kept calmly pumping and Mycroft let himself be amazed for just one moment.

This same hand had carried him out of Afghanistan, treated his wounds, and through it Mycroft has confirmed everything he ever thought about his mysteries Doctor to be true. They were still calloused and slightly dry, the muscles firm though slightly tense from the skin to skin contact, the skin still tan from their exposure to the sun. "Remarkable" breathed Mycroft

"What is?" asked John.

"Most people blunder round this city and all they see are streets and shops, and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?" mussed Mycroft, finding it remarkable that this man was not a simply goldfish, he was different and this meeting had only confirmed it further in Mycroft's mind, that John Watson was exceptional.

"What's wrong with my hand?" demanded John, Mycroft understood than that John was afraid that something else was wrong, besides the nerve damage the gunshot had rendered. Mycroft quickly tried to ease John's thoughts.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Most therapists would put it down as PTSD, trauma from your experiences in the war, that you are haunted by memories of your military service. But here you are under stress and it is perfectly steady" Mycroft paused before continuing. "You are not haunted by the war Dr. Watson, you miss it" said Mycroft evenly letting go of John's hand, turning around he calmly began to walk away to let the Doctor collect himself.

"Welcome back" said Mycroft softly as he left the soldier alone in the warehouse, while sending Athena a text to take Dr. Watson back to where he wanted to go. He turned when he was in the shadows and watched Dr. Watson get back into the car at Athena's request. A part of him wanting to follow while the other wondered if he would stay to go back to Sherlock's flat. His phone beeping from a text from Athena.

_Requested to go back to Baker Street, but stop at his bedsit to pick something up_

As the car drove John back to Baker Street, Mycroft could only shake his head in amusement. For the past three years he had been trying to find this particular soldier and his brother just happened to stumble upon him.

-v-*-v-*-v-*-v-*

Sorry this took so long but have been a bit busy with my Grandpa's funeral, the birth of my first niece, and transferring to a university I have been a bit stressed and in no mood to write. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you think!

P.S I saw a Disney movie with Andrew Scott in it! It was called A Miracle at Midnight.


	7. Revelations

Mycroft sat back as he listened to the live feed of the only bug that Sherlock had yet to find in his flat.

"_Seriously. This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?"_

It amazed him that John had defended his brother, even though he was wrong, the man had stood up to Scotland Yard for basically a stranger.

He couldn't help the wince when he heard John's slightly dead voice tell Sherlock that he didn't have to imagine what his final moments would have been. The whole flat rang with silence after that statement, even Sherlock was shocked at the revelation going by his silence.

Thinking back to the report of how serious the wound had been it was astounding that John was even alive right now. Sherlock seemed to realize that he had made a mistake as he didn't say anything more on the matter as he then proceeded to put more pieces of the puzzle together. Mycroft continued to listen as Sherlock exclaimed that the dead woman was more brilliant than the others in the room. He had to chuckle at Sherlock's comment aimed at Anderson's intelligence, if that man could only let go of his dislike of Sherlock he wouldn't be that bad at his job.

Mycroft missed the next part of the conversation as one of the Yarders brushed against his microphone.

"_He's getting into a cab, why would he do that?" _asked John

"_Who knows with Sherlock Holmes"_ said Lestrade and Mycroft could detect the exasperation in his voice.

"_So, why do you put up with him?" _asked Johncuriosity in his voice.

"_Because I'm desperate, that's why. And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very very lucky, he might even be a good one" _said Lestrade to Watson. The flat was quite after the last of the Yarders left the room, and Mycroft cursed the fact he didn't have video footage to see what Sherlock had seen and what lead he had run off on. He was about to turn off the recording when the sound of the laptop beeped.

"_Oh my God" _breathed John over the speakers, and the sound of his running out of the flat echoed over the speakers. Suddenly it clicked for Mycroft. The cabbie, he was the serial killer, and Sherlock had just left willingly with him.

"Activate Sherlock's tracker, I want to know where my Brother is Now!" roared Mycroft storming to his car. The tracking chip that Sherlock had agreed to have put in his phone in case of emergency was activated and soon Mycroft was speeding through London, his heart pounding with the fear that he was already too late to save his brother.

Athena looked up from her phone, her face gone pale, "Sir, the Yarders are on the scene, they are reporting a body." Mycroft world seemed to slow down as his worst fear of being too late to help his brother reared its head, his heart freezing in his chest. Had he failed to keep the promise he had made himself? Was tonight the night he would finally have to call Mummy and say that Sherlock was dead?

"Sir, it's the cabbie, the cabbie has been pronounced dead from a gunshot wound, Sherlock is fine."

Mycroft breathed out a sigh of relief, and he calmed down, though not enough to order his driver to slow down. The car stopped a distance from the flashing blue and white lights and Mycroft got out of the car and walked the rest of the way.

Mycroft hovered around the scene, and tried to look disinterested as he stared at the door to the college and waited to see if his brother was okay. Mycroft had gotten into his car the second he had heard that Sherlock had gotten into the cab with the serial killer. Then just as he had arrived the report had come in that a victim had been found at the scene dead. Mycroft heart had stopped beating in those few minutes, positive that it was his brother, but than he found out that the victim was the cabbie who had been killed by a bullet and that the gun man was nowhere to be found. But Mycroft was finally able to breathe again as Sherlock appeared through the door, and was herded to the back of the ambulance were he proceeded to look annoyed as every time he tore off the horrid orange blanket that was set around his shoulders it was quickly put back on.

Mycroft allowed himself a small smile at the sight, relieved beyond compare to see his brother was alright for the moment before the unsettling question of who killed the cabbie, did they do it to save Sherlock or was Sherlock the actual target and the cabbie got in the way?

Mycroft's thoughts wandered the shadowy figure that had London's crime world scrambling with fear. He and Athena had both noticed this spider's fingerprints on some of the recent crimes that Sherlock had been investigating, each one just interesting enough to prod Sherlock into investigating them. Mycroft worried as to why this figure seemed so interested in his brother and was he behind the bullet? Mycroft's eyes skimmed the slight crowd that had gathered at the sound of the Yards sirens looking for anyone that was out of place. They stilled when they landed on the perfectly calm and still figure of Dr. John Watson, who looked relaxed as the Yarders bustled around him. To Mycroft's eyes he wasn't upset that Sherlock had almost died, Mycroft stomach tightened, had the war stolen that part of Dr. Watson, the one who was worried about one patient that was willing to die just for the slight chance he could save him?

Mycroft's eyes flickered to his brother as Lestrade approached him and Mycroft listened to the conversation happening about the shooter.

Sherlock who had been sitting on the back of the ambulance covered in the hideous orange blanket that no matter how many times he removed it it always reappeared around his shoulders. He frowned as his hands faintly trembled in his lap, he didn't understand the reason they were trembling. He had been correct in his choice of the pill, he was never in any danger. Sherlock also knew that if the shooter wanted him dead, he would have been dead. He most defiantly wasn't fighting shock, no his mind was superior to that, no it was just the left over adrenaline from the sound of the gunshot. He breathed out as he watched Lestrade walked towards him as the blanket was placed once again over his shoulders.

"They keep giving me this blanket, why do they keep giving me it?"

"Yeah, it's for shock"

"I'm not in shock"

"Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs" laughed Lestrade. Sherlock rolled his eyes and blocked the rest of what Lestrade said. He was brought back to awareness when Lestrade asked him for whatever he had on the mystery shooter.

Sherlock launched into the deductions he already formed about the shooter. "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter…"

Mycroft then knew, before his brother even could even make the connection, that the reason John was so calm about the situation was because he knew that Sherlock was okay because he had been the one to shoot the cabbie. He only watched as his brother started to connect the dots.

"His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service…" Sherlock's eyes had swept the crowd and landed on unassuming John Watson and he knew in that moment that this man had just saved his life. John blue eyes meet his and they were so calm, so relieved as they racked up and down Sherlock's body with a clinical eye as if assuring himself that Sherlock wasn't injured.

As Mycroft watched Sherlock shrugged off the Inspector and headed towards John. To Mycroft's amazement the two were suddenly giggling as they began to walk away, that is until John caught sight of him.

"That's him Sherlock, that's the guy who kidnapped me" exclaimed John.

"I know who exactly this is" answered back Sherlock heading straight towards him.

"Sherlock" he greeted. "So. Another case cracked. How very public spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Sherlock, though he knew with just a glance that his brother had been worried.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you" answered Mycroft truthfully, allowing a bit of sentiment to bleed into his voice. Sherlock blinked and shot his brother a look that said that he was okay. But for the sake of appearance he snarked back a reply.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern" his eyes flicking to John, his eyes narrowing slightly at his brother.

Mycroft tilted his head, Sherlock might not like it but Mycroft would check out everyone that came into association with him. "Always so aggressive. Didn't it ever occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no" spit out Sherlock, just because this case had been dangerous he wasn't going to join up with Mycroft because he was worried.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy" Mycroft knew it was a low blow to bring in Mummy, but he was curious on how Dr. Watson would take in this new information since it was obvious that he still didn't know who he was.

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!"

"No. No, wait. Mummy, who's "Mummy" asked John confused,

"Mother. Our mother. This is my brother Mycroft" answered Sherlock.

"He's your brother?" said John shocked, though now that he looked at them both he could see the similarities. That also explained the nagging feeling that he had seen Mycroft before,

"Of course, he's my brother" returned Sherlock, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that they were unfortunately related. Really he was disappointed that John hadn't picked that out until now.

"So he's not... " began John, before he stopped suddenly feeling silly for what he thought.

"Not what?" asked Sherlock curious to see what the man had made his brother to be.

Encouraged John answered truthfully, "I don't know - a criminal mastermind?"

Sherlock smiled but didn't dare call John an idiot for his guess, beside his brother was a criminal, he illegally surveyed him every day. "Close enough"

Mycroft sighed, "For goodness sake, I occupy a minor position in the British government"

"He **is** the British government when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a free-lance basis." Mycroft frowned at his brother, he did wish that he stopped saying those things aloud; one never knew who was listening. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic" shot back Sherlock as he guided John away, John surprised him by looking back and giving Mycroft a nod good-bye.

Mycroft watched the duo walk away, one part of him couldn't believe the turn of events that had happened. This unassuming man with his jumpers and innocent air about him had saved Sherlock with a bullet just like with Mycroft. This man had single handedly saved the entire Holmes family and didn't even know it.

Mycroft wasn't surprised to see Greg coming towards him as he turned around. There was a mutual understanding between them that they worked together to keep Sherlock safe from himself. Mycroft silently respected the man that was able to put aside his pride and ask Sherlock for help on solving cases. Mycroft knew the DI would come to him sooner rather than later about the new addition to Sherlock's life.

"I see that you are on top of the situation as usual. Did you do the telephone routine or did you just have someone grab him as he walked past?" asked Lestrade with a trace of humor. Over the years there had been a number of people that came in NSY claiming to be kidnapped by a man in a suit that offered them money for information about Sherlock Holmes. Coincidently all traces of these reports all somehow went missing hours after being reported. Lestrade had given up trying to figure out how quickly Mycroft had found out about these reports and remove them from the database.

"Indeed" intoned Mycroft tapping his umbrella against the road not bothering to answer the question that didn't need an answer.

"Can I assume since there walking off together that this won't be the last time we see of this Doctor Watson?" tried Lestrade again.

"Perhaps, only time will tell Inspector" answered Mycroft, "It depends on how much Dr. Watson is willing to put up with my brother."

"Wait you're going to let this happen? You trust him with Sherlock?" asked Greg looking at Mycroft with skepticism.

Mycroft just looked at the man, he couldn't emit that he did trust John Watson. The Man he once trusted with his own life, he now was trusting with the most important thing in Mycroft's life, his little brother. But he couldn't exactly tell Lestrade that without telling the man exactly why that was and that was a story he wouldn't share unless John remembered and confronted him about it.

Lestrade sighed "Stupid me, of course not I'd be surprised if you trusted anyone."

Mycroft nodded glad that he didn't have to lie to the Inspector again, he would let Lestrade draw whatever conclusion's he wanted. Lestrade gave him a hard look.

"We both know that that Man, Dr. Watson, just shot a cabbie not ten minutes ago! You're letting a murder walk away with your brother."

Mycroft was pleasantly surprised that the Detective had figured it out so fast, yet this man wasn't as dumb as Sherlock thought he was. Gregory Lestrade didn't get to where he was in life because of Sherlock, not that his dear brother remembered that. "If that was true Inspector why haven't you arrested him."

Lestrade sighed rubbing a hand over his face, "Because in the one day that man has been with Sherlock, it's like he's a totally different man, a better man and I have a pretty good guess why Watson shot him to save your fool of a brother from doing something stupid. Plus I have a feeling that I will not find any evidence linking him to this shooting, the bullet dug out of the wall was too damaged to run any comparison over, and knowing Sherlock he would do everything in his power to way lay the investigation."

"It would seem so Inspector, but rest assured I will keep my eye on them" answered Mycroft truthfully as Lestrade was called away and Athena took his place.

"Ready to go Sir?" she asked.

Mycroft looked at her before turning to look in the direction Sherlock and John had walked. "Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother, or make him worse than ever. Either way we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade 3. Active" he said.

"Who Sir," she asked looking up at Mycroft.

"Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes" he answered. "Is that file ready for me."

"It will be on your desk when we get back" she answered.

Mycroft nodded, "Have one of our agents keep an eye on the Yarders, inform me if any suspicion lands on Dr. Watson. I also want to know when Sherlock returns back to Baker Street. There is nothing else we can do tonight."

Athena typed the message out on her Blackberry and followed Mycroft as he walked back to his car with instructions to drop him at the office.

* * *

The file handed to him was thicker than the one previous, John H. Watson's whole life story was contained in it. Mycroft hesitated before opening it, a strange feeling that he identified quickly as guilt crept into his chest. But he had to know, had to know what made a man like John Watson possible.

Right on top of the file was John Hamish Watson's birth certificate, born March 31, 1971 to Johnathon and Martha Watson, five pounds 8 oz., almost four weeks early from his due date. Doctor's notes suggest that they didn't believe that little baby Watson would make it. But John defied the odds and survived. The next few pages were doctor dates over the next few years of John's life. It wasn't until taking a closer at the dates that Mycroft grew suspicious, many were from different hospitals. These pages were filled with reports of broken bones and extensive bruising.

Mycroft felt unexpectedly angry as he read the Doctors reports from various hospitals of the young boy's injuries that added all together told of long term child abuse by his drunk Father's hands. It seemed that the late Mr. Watson took his frustration of the world out on his son, but never laid a hand on his daughter. Though Mycroft wondered if that was true, or did Harriet never go to hospital for treatment. It would also seem that the death of Mrs. Watson was the stressor that started the abuse when John was six, when the first doctors report started, even though Mrs. Watson had died two years previous. Despite this John Watson scored excellent marks in at his Grammar School in Chelmsford, teachers often commenting that though he was quiet he was quite helpful to other students and very respectful

He applied to medical school when he was 17 and joined the army on a Medical Cadetship that paid for his studies. In exchange for the payment, John had to sign up for 7 years of duty once he finished med school. He studied at King's College in London getting an Intercalated BSc in Medical Science, a Bachelor of Medicine, and a Bachelor of Surgery. He spent his internship at Barts and graduated with a University of London Degree. 1995 - 1997: Post-grad training as member of the Royal Army Medical Corps in at least 6 different military hospitals, most of them in England or Germany as well as a few other NATO bases. Also attended a short compulsory training course for non-combatants at RMA Sandhurst. 1997 - 1999: Specialize as a RAMC GP while working for the army on different bases. Until 2002 John worked as a RAMC Medical Officer on army bases, some in Sierra Leone, and reached the rank of Major.

In 2002 he re-enlisted in the Army as a combat soldier going to a 44 week officer training course at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, and was commissioned as an officer and combatant soldier, with the rank of Second Lieutenant, superior officers make a note that John excelled at marksmanship. From 2002 – 2009 John saw front-line action with Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in which he served tours in Iraq and Afghanistan , he was also among the troops that were sent into the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 2003 during Operation Coral. During those seven years of active combat he was promoted twice to Captain and was on the short list on being promoted to Major. John Watson was also a veteran of Helmand and Kandahar. He was invalided home in 2009 from a bullet from a sniper as Dr. Watson tried to save a private under his command. Unfortunately the bullet that went through his shoulder didn't stop and killed the private. The Captain's men tried to stop the bleeding with bandages they had and managed to keep Watson alive until he was able to be life-flighted out.

The files also held Doctor's notes, nurse observations, and pictures of John's wounds before and after surgery, and they weren't pretty. The bullet had shattered John's scapula, along with cutting muscles and nerves in half. He had died twice on the way to the hospital, where despite the Doctors best attempts he developed an infection and caught malaria. Doctors were sure that John would die as he slipped into a coma as he burned with fever. So it surprised all when John began to make a recovery. Pictures of John after he woke were almost unrecognizable. The infection had ravaged John's body leaving him thin and weak. He spent months recovering from the gunshot wound and the aftermath of the fever with physical therapy. Looking over the billing records Mycroft found the reason why the good Doctor needed a flatshare. The army had only partially paid for his medical care, what they didn't John paid out of his savings. The Army had paid for the bedsit and therapy, but Mycroft made the same conclusion as John. He couldn't live in London on his pension alone.

Turning the page a list of commendations and awards that Dr. Watson had given during his whole military career. It didn't surprise Mycroft to see that Dr. Watson was highly decorated, but he suspected he wasn't as decorated as he deserved. In his records were an unusual number of leaves given to him, or the army requiring him to go to a medical conference. Mycroft checked the day of his own rescue and found that it coincided with one of John's leaves. Mycroft wondered just how many missions John carried out that he never got recognized for. He wondered if even the British Army realized how much John gave to his country, or was it ignorant as the Government. This was John Watson's official classified file, and it had nothing in it. Only John probably knew everything he did, and if Mycroft even hinted that he knew that he was more than just a simple soldier than John would want to know how he knew it. Because there would be no way Mycroft could have none about it if it wasn't even in his classified file.

He gently closed the file and slide it away, letting the information slot into his Mind Fortress. Every new piece of information adding a layer onto the man. Athena walked into the office to find her boss leaned back in his chair in the same position they often found Sherlock in, John Watson's file in front of him.

Athena looked at her boss with concern in her eyes, she had never seen him act this way. As she watched he opened his eyes and sit up straight in his chair.

"Sir why are you so interested in this Dr. Watson?" asked Athena quietly. She couldn't understand why he seemed so relaxed about having this man they barely had checked out around his precious baby brother, a man that had killed a cabbie not twenty minutes ago and didn't appear the least bit upset over the fact.

"Do you remember when I got kidnapped in Afghanistan?" asked Mycroft as he turned his chair to look out his office window into the night. They both knew that she remembered it was something that one could not forget.

"I do" said Athena quietly, as she closed her eyes once again seeing the broken body of her boss being loaded into the helicopter.

"I never told you this, but it was just one man who saved me from the caves and he didn't even know who I was" said Mycroft softly. "He took out several of my captors by taking three bullets to the chest that his body armor protected him from. He carried through the desert to were his team was waiting and it was only them that realized how important I was and this man refused to believe that he had did anything special at all, firmly believing that anyone would have did what he did in his place."

Mycroft sighed, "You know as well as I do that all our research trying to find this team lead to nothing, and I had given up trying to find the man that saved my life. Yet it seems like the world had other plans when my brother found the one person I had looked for so long to find Captain John H. Watson the man that went into a cave of terrorists just to save a man that he didn't know. A man that within 24 hours of meeting Sherlock has already started to change my brother for the better and killed a man just to keep him safe."

"So that is why I am acting differently in this situation, I once trusted this man to get me out of the desert, and I can honestly say that I trust him to keep an eye out on Sherlock because John Watson in a honorable man and has attached himself to Sherlock and I firmly believe that he will try everything in his power to keep him safe."

Athena looked startled at the information and now she knew why he was acting so strange. Athena suddenly felt a little ashamed at how she treated the Doctor back at the crime scene, especially as she recalled the resigned look in his eyes as she pretended not to remember his name and brushed him off. As if he was used to people just forgetting him now that he no longer was a Captain in the Army, a man that used to command respect from everyone around him. Now he was forgettable and thinking back to the look in his eyes John Watson knew that he was to.

Athena blinked when Mycroft's fingers closed around her wrist and she was tugged down onto Mycroft's lap as he wound his arms around her waist and held her tight. It was against the rules they had set when they first started dating a year ago that they would keep work and their personal lives separate, an arrangement that worked for her and Mycroft's dangerous lives and they hadn't broken that rule until now. Yet here Mycroft broke it to comfort her.

"He is the only reason that we are here like this together" she whispered. "Yet I treated him like he was beneath my notice and worse he acted like it was expected."

Mycroft hugged her closer, "You didn't know Elizabeth" he whispered her real name, "How could you have known when I never shared this information with you."

Athena slowly nodded against him, and for a moment was content to just soak in the comfort Mycroft was giving. Mycroft gentle kissed the top of her head, before shifting her off his lap. "We will talk more tomorrow, right now let's go home it's been a long day."

Athena allowed Mycroft to lead her out of the office and snuggling against him in the privacy of the car she vowed that she would apologize to John Watson, and never would she pretend to not remember his name again.

* * *

I am thankful everyone who reads my stories and enjoys them, you guys are the best!

John's schooling and military history was the work of bakerstreetgirl, used with her permission. If you really want to read a good story about John Watson's history of a soldier than read her story, The Bravery of the Soldier by bakerstreetgirl

P.S There is now a Russian Translation of this story at /readfic/2425440, by the beautiful petergirl.


	8. Conversations and Apologies

Anger filled Mycroft as he read the report on the Agent Collin's body which had just been discovered the day previous. Collins body showed signs of being severely tortured before his throat had been cut. But what made Mycroft feel of twinge of unease was the message that had been cut in back of the Agent's body. _Daddy's had enough games Iceman- M_

This mysterious man, a man who had as many fingers in different pies as Mycroft himself had. But the man was a ghost, Mycroft couldn't even find out what his name was. Any man they caught who they associated with the criminal either was too afraid to speak no matter what pressure was used, while others ended up dead within hours of being captured. Mycroft already trusted very few people and that was even less now, and it continued to drop every day that passed.

Throwing the file down on his desk Mycroft stood and made his way using the backstairs of his office to reach the outside. It was so easy to slip into the stream of people that no one looked at him twice as he walked away. Like Sherlock said one time, he needed to walk the streets of London to feel the city's heartbeat. He kept walking until he reached a small park where he decided to wander about in for a few minutes before he called for his car to pick him up. Caring wasn't an advantage for the job he had, Agent Collins wasn't the first man he had lost in the field, and it was certainly not going to be his last. But this M had him on edge, especially since Mycroft had made the connection between him and the mysterious crime lord who was beginning to toy with his brother.

A sudden flare of sharp pain from his leg finally had Mycroft stopping to take into account that his leg was beginning to ache from the tension that was still in his limbs. Looking around for the nearest park bench to set down for a moment he was surprised to see one John Watson sitting in it.

"John" intoned Mycroft, sitting next to John on the park bench.

John look surprised to see him at the very least, and Mycroft was pleased to see no hostility in his posture as he greeted the elder Holmes.

"Mycroft, done with running the world for the day already?" John questioned with a small smile, and it took Mycroft a few seconds to realize John was teasing him. Not like the biting remarks Sherlock spat out when he was frustrated and annoyed with Mycroft, but this was said in a friendly way.

"I took an early lunch" replied Mycroft, making sure that his eyes softened for a moment before his mask smoothed back into place. "How are you settling into 221 B?" It had pleased Mycroft to see two days ago through the use of the CCTV cameras of John moving his belongings into the flat on Baker Street.

John huffed a laugh, "Of course you would know that I moved in," he said more to himself than to Mycroft. "It is different from any other place that I have lived in, that is for sure."

Mycroft could only imagine, Sherlock had been a terror to live with when he was a child, no doubt he was worse as an adult. "I'm sure it is quite different from what you are used to, my brother has often prided himself on being unique."

"That's certainly a word for him, just this morning we had a long discussion why body parts should not mix with food and he needs to keep his experiments on the second shelf on the fridge" said John with a smile as Mycroft grimaced at the thought of body parts in the fridge. "Also the proper way in storing them, I don't want my jam tasting like rotting foot."

"That was often a problem with some previous flatmates, though they often argued for him to get rid of them completely" Mycroft remembered numerous flatmates that tried to call the Scotland Yard on Sherlock when they discovered fingers in the vegetable tray. Again John showed himself an exception to the rule, instead of freaking out he was actually lecturing Sherlock on how he should keep them.

"Well I can see why they would, though I'm sure that he's chased more away with the toxic fumes, early wake up calls, and lack of privacy" said John with a fond look on his face, a fond one! The only one who gave Sherlock a fond look was Mummy. John couldn't help but laugh at the peculiar expression on Mycroft's face.

John knew that he should be disgruntled at all the things Sherlock did, but he had been in the Army and had dealt with all three of these things during all his tours. Plus he knew to some extent that Sherlock was testing him, could see it in Sherlock eyes every time he tried to deduce what John's real feelings about his actions. It made John sad to see Sherlock test him, like he expected John to walk out at any minute and he was doing extreme things to push him out faster.

But John wasn't going to leave that easily. He liked Sherlock, hell he had killed for the man without even knowing him for twenty-four hours, something he didn't do lightly. Unlike the faceless enemies during the war, Hope was now a clear face that haunted his nightmares.

Plus being there in Baker Street felt like coming home. It was so strange he had only been living there for a week, yet the flat felt more like home than any other place John had stayed at, including the house he grew up in. Plus he wasn't so sure he would be able to give up the life that Sherlock had brought him into.

Mycroft considered the face of John Watson, like Sherlock he tried to find any sign that the former soldier had lied. But it was in vain, John expressive face showed no sign of lies.

From the face that Mycroft had on his face, John knew that the elder Holmes was looking for ulterior motive behind John's words. It was rather sweet that Mycroft cared so much for his younger brother, to go to such long lengths to keep him safe. It was at times like these he wished Harry and he were closer, like they were when they were young, back before their Mother died. But he doubted that they would ever repair their relationship not when Harry blamed herself to the point that she needed alcohol to get through the day.

Mycroft studied the sudden melancholy Doctor by his side, he was slightly frustrated that he couldn't tell what caused it. He had read this man's file…twice, yet he still couldn't read him, he had pulled back one layer of the man to find more still underneath it. He wondered if Sherlock was having the same problems, maybe this was the one human that neither brother would ever fully understand.

The vibrating of his mobile reminded him that he had a country to run. As he pulled it out he was not surprised to see that it was Anthea demanding to know where he was. With John right beside him he decided to respond with a text, though he was loathe to do so, instead of calling. He slowly typed out his location and requested two cars, one for himself and the other for John.

John had discreetly turned away when Mycroft typed his messages. He was debating whether or not to return to the flat. Sherlock had been doing an experiment about chemical reactions that caused an explosion every few minutes. John had been fine with it until he started to dose and the sudden explosion had caused John to experience a flashback. Thank-fully the sound of Sherlock's voice brought him out of it only minutes later when he began to rant about the results.

John had fled from the flat minutes later, he needed the sights and smells of London to ground him in the here and now. The small green park was perfect for that, and had settled on the bench and allowed himself to just relax. It had been an unexpected surprise that an hour later Mycroft had sat next to him.

Receiving an affirmative he turned back to John. "Please allow me to give you a ride back to Baker Street" said Mycroft, he knew that Anthea would be in one of the cars and he knew that she wanted to apologize to John.

"That's okay you don't have to" said John, "One abandoned warehouse was enough."

"Second kidnappings take place down by the docks actually," he said seriously, without thinking. He knew immediately that this was not good. When was the last time he had let something slip from his mouth without thinking? One wrong word in his line of work often equaled death and he had trained himself out of the habit years ago.

Beside him, John just laughed he didn't notice the inner turmoil in Mycroft.

"You are just like a Bond villain you know that" said John still chuckling.

"Quite" Mycroft said automatically, suddenly relieved to see the cars pull up across the street. "My car is here" he said standing up.

John stood up also and followed Mycroft to the cars.

"It was good to see you Mycroft" John said truthfully holding out his hand.

Mycroft simply nodded and took the hand that was held out before he retreated into the interior of his car. He quickly escaped into his mind fortress and tried to make since of John Watson.

In the Other Car

John didn't even attempt to make conversation with the woman in the car this time around, instead just sat and looked out the window watching London go bye. Since he was looking out the window he wasn't aware of Anthea's gaze on him, or that her fingers had paused over the keyboard of her Blackberry.

When it was clear that John wasn't going acknowledge her besides the small nod he had given her before entering the car Anthea knew that she would have to break the ice first. So she gently cleared her throat until she caught his attention. It was cute the way he looked at her with his wide eyes full of surprise, though a shot of guilt also accompanied it when she remembered just why he would look that way. Anthea wondered if the good Doctor just knew how open his face was, how every emotion showed.

Anthea smiled at John with a soft little smile, "Good morning, Dr. Watson" she said softly, resisting the small laugh that threatened to bubble out of her when he looked at her stunned.

"Good morning, um…Anthea" he said not what to call her.

"Anthea is fine Dr. Watson" she assured him. "I wish to apologize for our last meeting. I am sorry if I was rude, it's an ingrained response to being hit on. I'm currently in a serious relationship" she explained smoothly while tilting her hand to display the ring Mycroft had given her. She watched amusedly as the tips of Dr. Watson's ears burned red in embarrassment.

"Oh, I apologize I didn't realize" he said looking awkward.

Anthea knew now what Mycroft had meant when he said John was an honorable man. She could tell he was embarrassed for hitting on her and if he knew that she wasn't single than he wouldn't of hit on her. "Thank-you Dr. Watson." Anthea's like for John grew as she returned to her phone riding in comfortable silence with the Doctor unlike the last ride.

When they finally reached Baker Street John was again surprised when Anthea wished him a good-bye and kissed his cheek. He could only stand outside the flat and watch the car drive away in shock at the gesture. He was glad when he finally walked into the flat that he found it empty. John was confused enough without Sherlock to deduce what had happened. Instead he pushed it out of his mind as he picked up his laptop and began to finish a new post on his blog about Sherlock's case, a case he dubbed _A Study in Pink_. By the time Sherlock came swarming back into the flat with a cooler of kidney's John had put the whole incident out of mind.

* * *

Kind of a filler chapter, but hope you enjoyed anyway! Please Review.


	9. Watches and Watching

What was Sherlock thinking, taking on a Chinese smuggling ring all by himself, he could have gotten killed! He almost got Miss Sawyer killed not to mention John. A few heads had rolled when he discovered just what his security team had missed.

Of course his security now said that Sherlock was fine, and John had a slight concussion, but that didn't stop him from going over to Baker Street as soon as his schedule allowed it. He was going to get the entire story from his baby brother, and no matter how much awful violin music he played Mycroft was staying until the stubborn fool talked. He let Anthea back at the office to keep an eye on the situation that was developing overseas.

Knowing that it was probably going to take awhile to get the explanation that he wanted, Mycroft waved his driver off and straightening his jacket he moved to walk to the door of 221B when it opened suddenly and John Watson

"Ah John how are you today?" asked Mycroft as he paused, John having just shut the front door with a little more force than what was necessary.

"Fine" said John, his voice hard as he continued past in a fast march that was in 8 by 5 steps.

Mycroft frowned as he walked the figure briskly walk down the street and turn the corner. From above the sounds of Sherlock playing his violin floated down, the notes dripping with anger and frustration and if Mycroft was not mistaken a twinge of guilt. Praying that whatever Sherlock did was fixable, Mycroft paused to straighten up the knocker before continuing up the stairs. The sound of the violin faded away and the sound of silence greeted Mycroft as he opened to door to see Sherlock was glaring at the coffee table at a clearly broken gold pocket watch. He sighed as he sat in John's chair and reached for the watch to examine it closely. Inside the watch was an inscription, Major Martin Watson, 1942. All thoughts of discussing what happened with the Chinese smuggling ring was back shelfed as he looked at the deliberate pattern of destruction that covered the watch.

"Oh Sherlock" he sighed looking at his brother that refused to look at him.

"A man's alibi depended on it" he said stubbornly.

Mycroft frowned, though it was partially true. Mycroft could tell that his brother was hiding something, from the condition of the watch he could tell it was well loved. And even if Sherlock thought it was beneath him to put value on objects and those who did where idiots he knew better than to destroy something like this. This was a personal deliberate attack against John, against a man that had very little in his life and made this even worse.

"Sherlock how many possessions did John have with him when he moved?" asked Mycroft fingering the gold chain attached to the watch.

"Three boxes," answered Sherlock, cautiously not knowing where this conversation was going. No matter how intelligent he was, how he could deduce the common man his big brother was at times still a cement wall and he could read nothing on his brother's face.

"And I assume most of those were clothes" said Mycroft, he indeed did know by the camera he had placed in the Doctor's room, which didn't last three days before the good Doctor had found it and destroyed it.

"Yes, what of it?" demanded Sherlock. Either Mycroft got to the point, or he was going to grab his violin and drive the fat idiot out.

Seeing that Sherlock's patience was wearing thin, Mycroft decided to get right to the point. "So in Dr. Watson's life he has but a few prized possessions that he has kept throughout his travels, and these pieces must mean a lot to him in order for him to keep a hold of them."

"Sentiment" rumbled Sherlock with slight disdain. And while Mycroft in the past would have agreed with him without a doubt, these past few years had changed Mycroft's mind on many things.

"Indeed brother dear, but some people do get attached to things. Dr. Watson obviously cared for this watch, probably his most prized procession and carried it with him since he came by it. That is probably the only reason he still had it instead of it being sold by his drunk sister for more alcohol. Why would you destroy your friend's most prized possession?"

"John's made it very clear that we are not friends. When I introduced him to Sebastian as my friend, John immediately corrected me, he was my 'colleague'" spat Sherlock and Mycroft knew he had gotten to the root of the problem. He wondered how his brother could be so blind, he had to resist the urge to bop him over his thick skull with his brolly. He had read in the report that Sherlock had been hired by Sebastian Wilkes at the beginning of this whole mess and that lay the problem. He knew what type of man Sebastian was and what type of man John was and even without seeing the interaction knew that the business man would rub the soldier in the wrong way.

"Sherlock did it ever occur to you that the good Doctor didn't want to be paraded around in front of your old school mates. By correcting you he probably was asserting to Sebastian that he was an equal partner, and you brought him along because he was necessary to your work. Not because you wanted to show Sebastian that you had finally found a friend and were showing him off like a brand new toy?"

Sherlock blinked clearly he hadn't thought of that as he reviewed the meeting in his head, remembering how John acted in the bank and his expressions before he guiltily looked at the watch he had destroyed out of spite.

"Apologize to him Sherlock" advised Mycroft softly gathering the pieces of watch as Sherlock retreated into his mind palace. He slipped the pieces into his pocket and saw himself out, he knew that he wouldn't be getting the full story out of Sherlock that day. Instead his mind went to the watch he had wrapped in his hankerchief, Mycroft knew of a little shop in London that he sent his own watches to that might be able to repair it. It would be a shame that a watch that had survived World War II and the Afghanistan just to be destroyed by Sherlock.

Across the street a pair of blank black eyes watched one of the world's most powerful men get into the car that pulled up magically next to him before he even reached the curb. The man was confused he had expected the Ice Man to stay, expected to see the look of irritation and worry to cover that brow from hearing about the little mishap with his smuggling ring. But no what he got instead from his bug was a conversation about a watch and the flatmate that was so beneath his notice that he hadn't even given him a thought in his upcoming game with the consulting detective.

No Moriarty could now see that he had underestimated the short blonde man that followed the lanky detective all over the place like a dog. But it would seem that he might have a place in his new game, the Iceman had shown interest, had tried to make his brother feel empathy to the man. Moriarty would have to find all there was to know about this John Watson, starting off with a picture. He had been too busy thinking that he would soon be out of the picture like Sherlock's other flat mates that he hadn't even bothered to really see what he looked like. But by the end of this day he would have new plans to fit this unexpected windfall into his great game. It was with these thoughts that a manic gleam appeared in the dead eyes and Moriarty strode away whistling a catchy tune about Stayin' Alive.

* * *

Sorry for the wait, but I am finding it hard to bridge the gap from point A to C, B does not want to come out. Anyway hope that you enjoyed this chapter.

P.S Thanks for reading Captain Ginger :-P


	10. Conversations and Insanity

John stayed out for many hours after the watch incident. He still couldn't believe what Sherlock had did. Over seventy years' worth of history was now destroyed. It was the only procession that he valued in his whole life and now it was gone.

He had been a young boy when his Grandfather Watson passed, but he could still remember the smell of his tobacco on his cloths, and the sound of his gravelly voice as he told stories so far away. His Grandfather must have known his time was coming when the last time John had seen him, the old soldier had given him the gold watch.

"_Can you keep this safe for me lad" asked Martin Watson as he looked down at the tiny lad as he laid the gold watch into his small palms. _

_The little boy had been a God send these past four years. His John had never been afraid to step up and hug him and tell him he loved him. Not even when half his face had been destroyed in the last war with Germany when a grenade had exploded next to his face. Not even Martin's son had shown much affection as a child because of his face._

_Martin knew that his little John was something special, he would do great deeds in his life. That he was certain. It is why he was going to in trust a four year old child with the last piece of wife's memory. His lovely Marilyn had given him the watch the week before he had been shipped out to the front lines to fight Hitler's greatest soldiers. _

_Through the campaigns he had carried this watch, it had seen many battles, including the sands of a Norway beach were so many had died, but had helped achieve the end of the war. The only imperfect the watch had was the slight dent in the body, where it had stopped a ricochet bullet from hitting him. Many of his fellow Royal Warwickshires led the way on D-Day, and many died because of it. Though he guessed no he should call it the Royal Warwichshires Fusiliers. As the regiment had been re-titled. _

_But in his old bones he knew that he did not have long in this world. And he wanted to make sure that the watch was given to the lad. Martin had no doubt that after his death, his son would sell off everything. He might be old but not old enough to miss the smell of alcohol on his son's breath, or the odd bruise on Harriet or John. _

_Martin had tried to get his grandchildren out of the situation, but none would listen to the old man, who looked like he was the thing of children's nightmares. People chalked it up to a man's grief over his wife's passing and over time Jonathan would get over it, but Martin doubt it. It was one of the main reasons why he was kneeling down in front of the young boy despite his arthritic knees. To show this boy if dark years were to come, that he was loved. _

_The watch seemed so large in the small hands that had cupped it carefully, knowing through the stories Martin had told him, of how special the watch was, how much meaning was behind it. The boy looked at the old man with wide surprised eyes. _

"_I will Grandfather" John said solemnly. _

_Martin smiled, "Good lad, but remember that this is between us. Don't show your Father or sister, alright?"_

_John nodded with a serious look, as if he already knew that his 14 year old sister and his Dad was not to be trusted. It broke Martin's heart to see such a look from such a little boy. But he did no show it. Instead he just squeezed his shoulder in his still strong grip, before slowly rising from the ground. _

_John would never learn about the thoughts running through his Grandfather's head at the time. Never knew how insightful the old man was until he opened a part of the watch that had not been opened since the day he received it and found a picture and a letter written to him. But that was for another time…_

John was so preoccupied with his thoughts and memories that he didn't notice where he was going so he did not see the person until it was too late. Their collision sent both tumbling to the ground. John groaned softly as pushed himself up, he had landed on his bad leg. But he pushed it aside to look at the other person he had brought down and was surprised to recognize who it was. He quickly scrambled to his feet.

"Oh, Ms. Hopper I am so sorry" apologized John reaching down to help the pathologist up.

"No trouble," said Molly brushing the dust from her jacket peering at the man who was helping her up. She was ashamed that it took a moment to recognize the man that had come in with Sherlock a few weeks ago. She furrowed her brow trying to remember what his name was.

"John Watson" John supplied, feeling a twinge of disappointment. Why would he expect for this woman to remember his name when it was obvious that she had only eyes for Sherlock. Normally it wouldn't have bothered him, but today it bothered him more than he would have liked.

Molly immediately felt bad as she saw the sadness that crossed this man's face. It finally hit her that this was probably the same reaction that John received around Sherlock all the. She had overheard Detectives Anderson and Donavan discuss about the man that followed Sherlock like a dog.

And it dawned on Molly in that moment as she looked at this man bending down picking up the files she had been carrying. The few times Molly had been in John Watson's presence she had been treating him like Sherlock treated people. She ignored him, because she deemed him unimportant when compared to Sherlock.

"Thank-you" she said accepting the files, smiling her first real smile at the man.

"Your welcome, I am sorry again, I wasn't watching were I was going" apologized John finally realizing just how far he had walked from Baker Street.

"It's alright, Dr. Watson" said Molly, glad she had remembered the passing comment she had heard about the Doctor.

"Please call me John" said John. "Since his discharge and not having renewed his medical license, he found it a little unnecessary.

"Then it's Molly to you" said Molly with another smile. Working with Sherlock, she was slightly amazed to see how warm and friendly John was. She had assumed that John was like Sherlock, because she thought that that would be the type of person Sherlock would find a liking to. But just this little chit-chat had revealed a little of his character to the pathologist. She took another look, and saw something in his eyes that she often saw in her own. A sense of disappointment and sadness, with a slight bit of anger that always appeared after a conversation with Sherlock after he did something very cruel.

Molly chewed her bottom lip, she did not want to appear to be a busy body poking in John's affairs. But she felt like she owed him little because of her attitude towards him. "John I know that it isn't my place, but did Sherlock do something to you?" she asked.

John seemed very surprised at her insight, and he froze briefly. Before nodding slowly to the relevantly unknown woman he was talking to.

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee or tea and talk about it?" asked Molly fiddling with the folders in her hand. "Just as friends" she clarified when John did not answer right away. "It's just I know something about how you feel" she added on very softly.

John slowly nodded, "I would love a cup of tea right now, do you know of any place nearby?" asked John.

Molly motioned for John to follow her as she led him down the block to where a tea and coffee shop was tucked into a corner. Once they both had their tea, they sat down in a booth towards the back of the shop.

Molly played with her mug of tea in her hand and darted quick looks to John. She had a feeling that John did not talk about his problems to other people very often, as was the way with most men. So she slowly sipped her hot tea and waited patiently for John to begin.

"I am not a materialistic man" began John. "I have little in my life that I have kept ahold of, only a few objects that hold any meaning. But those few objects are priceless, they can't be replaced."

A pit began to open up in Molly's stomach as she realized what Sherlock must have done, but kept silent as John continued to speak.

"When I came home today, I found Sherlock in the living room in his chair, in his thinking pose and a hammer with a pocket watch next to it" John paused slightly as the scene came again in his mind, followed by a stream of emotions. "The pocket watch was something my Grandfather had given to me a week before he passed when I was four. It was given to him by my Grandmother when he was shipped out in WWII. I carried it through my years in the Army and now it's destroyed."

Molly slowly reached over and squeezed John's hand, "I'm sorry John."

John gave her a soft smile and squeezed back, "You have nothing to be sorry about Molly. It was all Sherlock's doing. I just wished I knew why. Sherlock has his own pocket watches, I've seen them in his room. I don't understand why he would go up into my room and dig through my stuff to find that watch. I stopped carrying it around because I thought it would be safer in my room than around the pickpockets Sherlock consults on cases."

Molly slowly swirled the last of her tea in her cup as she answered John. "Sherlock is like that," said Molly sadly. "Petty revenge, if he feels hurt he does little things. That is why he's like that to Donavan and Anderson."

"Have you known him long?"

Molly shook her head, "Since he started working regularly with the Yard. Scared me half to death the first time I came down here and he was messing with one of the corpses" admitted Molly.

"I bet" laughed John, and Molly was surprised of how changed John looked when he laughed and smiled. He looked much younger that what he was. "So you're saying that I basically betrayed Sherlock somehow and he broke my watch in retaliation."

Molly nodded, "I have known Sherlock long enough to know that he does know wrong from right. Every move he makes is deliberate. To him you must have did something and to punish you he destroyed something that had sentimental value to."

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "Of course" he finally said.

Molly looked at him questionably and John recounted the story of meeting Sebastian in the bank.

"That would do it" said Molly.

John sighed, but let the topic drop. Realizing he had been rude in dumping his problems on Molly he started to ask the young woman questions about herself.

Molly was slightly surprised, not many people in her life wanted to get to know her. But John seemed interested in what she had to say. Soon the two were deep in conversation, ranging from many different topics. Too soon both realized how late it had been grown and Molly still had the files in her hand to go through.

"This was nice" said Molly as she adjusted her coat as they walked out of the coffee shop.

John nodded, "It was nice to have a normal conversation for once" joked John.

"Maybe we can do this again?" asked Molly, hating how hopeful her voice sounded. But Molly didn't have many friends and John was a nice guy and was interesting to talk to. He had no alternative motive to talk to her, did not want something out of her. And he had not made a move on her during the whole time together. In fact he had been nothing but polite, holding the door open for her and even buying her tea.

"Next Thursday?" asked John. He had also been hopeful that this would happen again. He wasn't lying that it had been very nice to have a normal conversation. With Sherlock, it was generally something about a case, or crime. Beside Mike, he had no friends here in London that was not related to New Scotland Yard. Though Molly could technically be counted as part of NSY, she had other responsibilities than to the police force. Unlike Mike, Molly did not know anything about his younger years. She did not have to worry about tip toeing around painful subjects like Mike liked to do. It was refreshing to John to have someone who he could choose whether or not to reveal things to. John wasn't ignorant, he knew that Mycroft and probably Lestrade had run a background check over him when it appeared that he was going to stay at 221B Baker Street.

"Thursday" confirmed Molly with a smile.

"See you then" said John as they parted ways. Talking to Molly about what had happened made John feel slightly lighter. He was still angry at Sherlock, but now he didn't feel like strangling the bugger. It would be a while before John forgave the bastard, but he now the urge to pack up what was left of his belongings and go to Mike's to crash was gone. But he knew that he would have to look into getting a safety deposit box to put the rest of his valuable things in that is if they had not been destroyed to. After coming in to see Sherlock and the watch, he hadn't bothered to check to see if the rest of his valuables had also been similarly destroyed.

John was glad it was not raining as he walked the long miles back to Baker Street, fully realizing how far he had come since storming out. By the time he had reached the familiar black door, his leg hurt slightly.

John huge up his coat in the landing, and steeled himself to go upstairs. The faint noises from above signaled that Sherlock was still up. Straightening his shoulders, he marched up the stairs like he was going into battle.

Sherlock was bent over his microscope looking at tissue samples, when John came back. He had been unable to concentrate since his friend's departure and his brother's visit. Though he was loath to admit it. Mycroft was right, he did need to apologize for what he did to John's watch. That is why he stationed himself in the kitchen. After being gone for almost four hours John would want a cup of tea, and he would have to come into the kitchen to do so. Sherlock would apologize and then they would retire to the sitting room where John would work on his blog and he would practice his violin while ignoring the cup of tea that John had made for him.

That is what Sherlock deduced would happen, so he was surprised when John came in that he not only walked right past the kitchen. But didn't acknowledge Sherlock at all as he headed straight up the stairs to his room above.

Sherlock frowned, at the back of the retreating form of his flatmate. That had been unexpected. But Sherlock stayed in his place at the microscope, confident that John would come down soon. He tuned his ears to the small sounds of John moving around his room. He seemed to be searching for things.

It only took a moment for Sherlock to realize what John was doing. He was searching around to make sure that Sherlock hadn't destroyed anything else. Sherlock was suddenly glad that he had stopped at the watch and hadn't continued on with the small locket he had found in John's things. Though why John had his sister's locket was a mystery to Sherlock, though he assumed that she had given it to him when he was deployed.

John seemed satisfied with his search when Sherlock heard the creak of the bed as he sat down and no loud voice demanding Sherlock of what he had done was heard. Sherlock placed another slide underneath the microscope and waited, and waited, and waited. But John did not come down and no other sound was heard from upstairs.

Sherlock was about to get up and see what was going up when the bed creaked once more in a way that Sherlock recognized as John lying down in preparation of sleep. Sherlock very quietly snuck up the stairs and peeked into John's room and indeed saw John under the covers with his back to the room.

Sherlock scowled as he went back downstairs to brood in his chair. Maybe apologizing to John would be harder than he thought.

* * *

Before returning home, Mycroft stopped by a little shop that was unknown except to a select few. If you didn't know it was there, many people would overlook it. Mycroft had found it when Sherlock had destroyed a very expensive watch that had been a gift from the Prime Minister.

The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was the clocks. Clocks of every size filled the small place, from Grandfather clocks, to alarm clocks lining the wall.

The tinkling of the bell over the door had an older gentlemen coming out from the back.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes it has been a long time" greeted the man. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Gustave" greeted Mycroft as he walked to the counter, with his umbrella settled in the crock of his elbow. "I was hoping that you might be able to do something with this piece" said Mycroft as he reached into his pocket and drew pieces of John's broken watch onto the counter.

Old wrinkled hands reached out and picked up the main casing and turned it over in his hands, taking in the details.

"This is a beautiful watch Mr. Holmes, and quite old. Such a shame that it has been damaged" said Gustave.

"My brother can still be quite the terror" said Mycroft, watching the skilled hands go over the watch. "Can you fix it?" he asked.

"It will take some time, to locate the right parts" said Gustave eyeing some of the clogs. "They don't make parts like these now a day, but yes Mr. Holmes. I do believe I will be able to restore this piece."

Mycroft allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Excellent."

* * *

In an undisclosed location a man who looked like he ate nails for breakfast knocked hesitatingly on the door to an office with a file in his hand.

At the sound of a giggle, and a 'Come in' the man walked into one of the most feared places in Britain. It looked like many normal offices. But this office was painted in dark red, to match the blood rea carpets. The furniture was a dark brown color, and was anything but cheap. But what made this office so feared was the small man spinning in his office chair and giggling to himself.

The man tried to walk confidently to the desk where he laid the file on, but even he couldn't stop the hair standing up on the back of his neck as he got closer to the criminal mastermind.

"Here you go boss, all the information we could find on John Watson" said the man and laid the file on top of the huge desk, next to a pistol that set on corner of the desk.

"Who?" came the question, though he had yet to stop spinning.

"Sherlock Holmes flatmate."

"John Watson, how boring" said Moriarty spinning slower, "How ordinary."

It broke his black heart to think Sherlock was stuck with someone so boring, but that would soon change. The Detective was almost ready to meet his counter-part, almost.

Moriarty stopped spinning as the henchman turned and started to leave. He glanced at the moderately thick folder and sighed. He should just send Sebby to shot this man instead of learning about him. But the man didn't seem to be going anyplace. So something about this man intrigued the Consulting Detective and James needed to find out what that was.

A picture was paper clipped to the front of the first sheet of paper. But James did not get any further as he stared at the picture, anger bubbling up inside of him.

"No…no….no…NO!" yelled Moriarty, picking up the gun he had, and emptying all 15 rounds in the back of the retreating henchman, who had almost been to the door.

Setting the smoking gun down, Moriarty glared at the picture. "It can't be possible" he hissed in anger.

Moriarty opened his laptop and brought up a security picture that had been taken years ago, he glued his eye and took in the detail of his face. This one man that his entire network had been unable to find. Comparing the pictures, James knew that they were the same man. But it couldn't be possible, he could not have overlooked this.

John Watson, the savior of the Iceman. Oh, how Moriarty was going to have fun with him. He began to laugh, a laugh of insanity that echoed in the office and sent chills down the henchmen who were nearby. Nothing good could come from that laugh.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed, please review


	11. Apologizes and Explosions

Sherlock hadn't realized how used he was to having John in his life until it was like he was gone. The other man seemed to have a knack at avoiding Sherlock. He had been trying for an entire week to corner the man so that he could apologize.

Sherlock missed coming out of his mind palace to see a cup of tea sitting at his elbow. Or the nights he stayed up composing, dare he say it. He missed the silent company John provided sitting in his red chair, just enjoying the sounds that came pouring out of his violin.

This is why he found himself going to the only other person he thought could help him.

Anthea had expected to spend a rare night to herself just relaxing in her apartment. But as soon as she opened the door she realized that she had unexpected company.

"Does your brother know you're here?" asked Anthea as she stepped into her apartment.

"What do you think" demanded Sherlock from his place in her sitting room.

"I'll take that as a no" she commented moving into her kitchen to put the kettle on. But was pleasantly surprised to find a cup already waiting for her. Taking off her heels there in the kitchen she padded into the living room. She was curious as to what the younger Holmes wanted, it wasn't often that he sought her out. It usually only happened when he majorly screwed something up.

She made herself comfortable in the seat opposite and slowly sipped her tea and waited. Anthea had plenty of experience with these types of situations with Mycroft. It was better to wait until they started to speak than to ask them questions.

"It's about John" Sherlock said finally.

Anthea hmmd, but still refrained from speaking, just continued to wait.

"He's been avoiding me all week" he huffed.

"Why do you suppose that is?" asked Anthea, even though she already knew all about the watch incident.

"I don't know" Sherlock said, trying to avoid saying the reason why. But Anthea wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. She continued to drink her tea and let Sherlock stew in his own thoughts.

After five minutes Sherlock broke. "I was angry at John, I misinterpreted something he said. In retaliation I used his Grandfather's watch in an experiment. He hasn't talked to me since, even though I've tried to" he paused and grit his teeth, "To apologize."

Anthea managed to keep the shock off her face. It was almost unheard of the hear Sherlock apologize to someone. The only person that Anthea could think of offhand was Mrs. Holmes, and even rarer Mycroft. To hear that he had been trying for a week to apologize was amazing. Mycroft had been right that night almost a month ago. John would be the making of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock huffed, "I know what you're thinking, how could I lower myself to the level of normal people. Don't think that it is because my emotions. I find that John's pettiness is distracting me from the Work" he said trying to cover up the fact that he was trying to act like a normal person.

Anthea fixed him with a look, but choose not to break the fantasy Sherlock was spewing. Anthea knew better than most the front that both Holmes projected to the world.

"How have you gone about trying to apologize to him? Have you been waiting for him to come to you?" she asked. Because knowing Sherlock, he had been placing himself in convenient positions and waiting for John to come.

At Sherlock's silence she took it as a yes. "Sherlock, from what I have seen of John, he is a proud person. You wronged him, and he is not going to come to you for an apology. You are going to have to go straight to him and apologize."

Sherlock seemed to soak in her words, before standing up. He offered her no words of thanks, not that she expected him to. As he began to walk away, she called out once last word of advice. "And Sherlock, give him your word that you won't destroy any of his other prized possessions."

Sherlock paused only to give her a nod that he understood her suggestion. Anthea took another sip of her tea as she heard the sound of her door closing. She debated on whether or not if she showed inform Mycroft of this little session. But as she stood up to change into more comfortable cloths she decided against it. There was no doubt that Mycroft knew that his brother had stopped by, and probably already knew what he wanted to talk about. If Mycroft did ask about it, she would tell him what the talk was about. But until then she was going to relax and watch an interesting American T.V show about two brothers hunting the supernatural.

* * *

Sherlock had quite a bit to think about as he began to make the long trek to Baker Street. His conversation with Anthea had made the pieces click together. He could understand why his brother planned on marrying her. She understood the nature of both Holmes brothers and how to handle them. Sherlock had to admit she was probably right and going with his limited knowledge of apologizing Sherlock knew what he could do.

As he called a cab, Sherlock couldn't help but be thankful that he didn't delete every conversation he had with Lestrade.

* * *

John sighed as he opened the door to the flat. It had been hectic at the clinic today, a stomach bug was making it's through the populace. All John wanted was a cup of tea, maybe some toast, and to hit the hay. He stubbornly ignored the part of him that whispered that he wanted to drink that tea in his red chair as he listened to Sherlock play the violin. Maybe he was being a little bit petty in avoiding Sherlock this past week. But he refused to feel bad about it. John could put up with body parts in the fridge, Sherlock screeching with his violin all night, and the days Sherlock was a total arse. But he had a line to what he would put up with and Sherlock had found that line and proceeded to cross it. Until Sherlock gave him at least an apology, John refused to do anything but the minimum requirements on sharing the flat.

"John can you come in here" called Sherlock from the kitchen. John paused with his foot on the bottom step. He debated on just ignoring Sherlock like he had been doing this past week. But this was the first time Sherlock had tried to start a conversation instead of just ignoring John as he walked past.

John sighed as he removed his foot from the bottom step and turned into the kitchen. He expected to find the man in the middle of an experiment. Instead he found the kitchen clean for the first time he had come to Bakers Street. Sherlock was standing by the table which was filled with takeout boxes from Angelo's and John's favorite dish was sitting on the table.

John turned to look at Sherlock in the eye, and raised an eyebrow. If he did not better, he would say that Sherlock fidgeted under his gaze. "What is this?" asked John after a few moments of silence. He expected for Sherlock to say something along the lines of 'Don't be obvious John.' But no such comments came forth.

Instead Sherlock shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's an apology" he finally said.

John crossed his arms and settled his weight on the back of his heels. If this was Sherlock's apology, he was going to get the stubborn git to say out loud what he was apologizing for. "An apology for what?"

Sherlock glared a little at him, but John glared right back not giving in an inch. As much as Sherlock thought he was intimidating, John had faced terrorists face to face. He had been close to dying multiple times. He was not intimidated by a tall man in a coat, just as he was intimidated by a man in a suit and umbrella.

"I am sorry that I used your Grandfather's watch in an experiment. In the future I will endeavor to not use any of your personal belongings in my experiments."

Sherlock didn't know what to expect after he apologized. He didn't expect for John to stand there for a solid three minutes and just study him. For a brief moment, Sherlock wondered if this was how people felt when he studied them. It was slightly unnerving, not that Sherlock would allow that to show.

Finally John nodded, "Apology accepted. Now sit down, I'm not eating all of this." For once Sherlock didn't complain or try to resist when John filled his plate up with food. It was worth it as John asked Sherlock about his week and listened to Sherlock as he outlined his cases. Every once in a while peppering in some complements when Sherlock elaborated his process. When the food was done with, John excused himself to head upstairs. Sherlock retreated to the living room and into his mind palace. He wanted to analyze every moment of this evening with John.

When he emerged he was confident that John had indeed forgiven him. Something that was confirmed when he opened his eyes and saw a cup of tea resting at his elbow. Sherlock's heart warmed at the sight. He was wrong to assume John wasn't his friend after the correction he made to Sebastion. This week had shown him what it would have been like if John was just a flatmate. And Sherlock could saftly say he didn't want that to happen again

Reaching out he took ahold of the cup and took a sip of the still warm tea. It was exactly how he preferred it.

"Don't you have a country to run?" asked Sherlock eyes flickering to the door where Mycroft stood just in the doorway.

"Hello to you too brother" said Mycroft as he crossed the living room in a few graceful strides and sitting down in John's chair. Mycroft studied his little brother, he knew all about the meeting with Anthea. And from the set of Sherlock's shoulders and the empty cup of tea at his elbow, Mycroft knew that John had forgiven his brother. He couldn't help the little smirk that crept up on his face, making Sherlock scowl.

Sherlock opened his mouth to retaliate when a muffled scream sounded through the flat. Mycroft looked at Sherlock with alarm.

"John has nightmares" said Sherlock simple as another scream filled the air.

Mycroft's nodded, "I can imagine why" he said softly. His mind remembering the details of the file he had in his office.

"Why are you here Mycroft?" demanded Sherlock picking up his violin. He had only a less than five minutes before John would stumble down, sweat drenched with red rimmed eyes. Sherlock was certain that the good Doctor would not want Mycroft to see it.

"I have a case for you. A matter of National Security."

"Boring" stated Sherlock plucking at the strings of his violin aggressively, watching in satisfaction as Mycroft's head ticked in annoyance at the loud sound. Over the sound of the broken notes Sherlock heard the sounds of John's feet hitting the ground. The nightmare must have been particularly bad for John, looking at his brother he could tell that Mycroft had heard it to. Neither brother said anything as they listened to the sounds of John making his way down the stairs.

A disheveled John was not expecting to see not one but two Holmes sitting in the living room as he stumbled down the stairs. "Evening Mycroft"

"Good evening John."

John ran a hand through his hair, if he had to deal with two Holmes he needed tea. "I'm making tea, do either of you want some?"

"Don't bother John, he's leaving soon-" began Sherlock, while Mycroft also answered, "I wouldn't mind a cup."

Both glared at the other, and John just shook his head. No matter how powerful men where, they still acted like children around their siblings. The living room was silent as John prepared the tea, as the brothers had digressed into a staring contest. John was walking back into the living room with two cups of tea in his hand, when the world exploded in front of him.

The force of the blast knocked John off his feet, while it also caused Sherlock who had been standing in front of the window and Mycroft still in the chair to also be blown back landing almost side by side.

Despite his ears ringing, and feeling disorientated, John's instincts took over. Crawling over broken glass he reached the brothers. Using his body John formed a protective barrier over both Holmes's heads as a second explosion rocked the building, smaller than the first one though. Stray bits of glass still rained down on them.

When a few minutes passed and no other explosions followed John slowly sat up, but put his hands on the Holmes backs to keep them from sitting up. John surveyed the damage done. The wall facing the street was mostly intact, expect the windows were completely gone. The building across the street had sustained quite a bit of damage and was currently an fire.

John determined that that was where the explosions originated from. Deeming it was safe to move. He pulled both Holmes to their feet and herded them into the kitchen which was completely intact. Once he had them situated in chairs he assessed them to see if they had any threatening injuries.

"John I am fine" whined Sherlock trying to pull away as John leaned in and ran his hand over Sherlock's head, checking for bumps. Sherlock had been closest to the windows, with his back to them. He had the highest chance of injury.

"Since I am the Doctor here, let me be the judge of that" said John shortly continuing with his examination. Satisfied that Sherlock was fine, he turned his attention to Mycroft. The elder Holmes was watching with a slightly worried expression as John finished his exam of the younger Holmes. John expected the elder Holmes to put up a protest as John as performed a similar examination. Instead Mycroft just stared at John's face as he worked. Something about the situation was like déjà vu, but John couldn't put his finger on it.

Besides slight ringing in their ears, both Sherlock and Mycroft were perfectly fine, which John was glad. He left them in the kitchen as he went downstairs to check on Mrs. Hudson. Already the sound of sirens could be heard as the cavalry began to descend.

For the moment Mycroft ignored his ringing phone as he slowly reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, happy when Sherlock not only gripped it back but also squeezed it. For a moment the brothers allowed themselves to be human, and express to themselves how glad they were that they both were alive and well.

Mycroft knew all too soon that this moment would not last. Already the questions were beginning to circle around his head. Was the explosion an accident or deliberate? And if it was deliberate, who set it and why did they target Sherlock?

* * *

And let the Great Game begin...


End file.
